


The Beast from Mordor

by Rads



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Beauty and the beast trope, Bilbo finds the ring instead of Deagol, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, See chapter notes for triggers, Slow Burn, Smaug was killed 70 years before canon, Tarzan trope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-06 05:05:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 31,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5404094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rads/pseuds/Rads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. In this universe, Thorin Oakenshield reclaims Erebor from the dragon Smaug, with the help of Gandalf and a 3,000-strong army. </p>
<p>A year after Smaug's death, a messenger comes to Erebor with terrible news  - Prince Vili, husband of Princess Dis, and their only son, a dwarfling of four, have been killed in an orc raid.  </p>
<p>The messenger is right, but only on one count. For at that exact moment, the little dwarfling is on his way south to Mordor, clasped to a female orc's breast. </p>
<p>Many decades later, a young dwarf emerges from Mordor, completely shorn of hair, heavily dyed, and believing himself to be an orc. Will he ever discover his true identity or be reunited with his family?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exiled from Mordor

**Author's Note:**

> The story is set in roughly the same time as BOTFA, but the plot is entirely different. But yes, you'll meet many old friends from The Hobbit and even a few from LOTR! Ok, maybe a couple :) 
> 
> I now have a beta! The amazingly patient and kind-hearted Dragonbilbo <3<3 is reviewing the fic and helping me fix all my typos and anachronisms. Any mistakes are mine alone, though :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: suicidal thoughts, bad language.

The thud of booted feet beat a squelchy staccato on the wet leafy ground, as the Uruk from Mordor marched through the forests of Gondor. Their leader Gnoth marched at their head, huge sword hanging from his belt, a massive, wooden shield on his arm, both arm and shield covered with burns and scars. To his right marched Durk, his second in command, a shorter Uruk with beetling brows and a massive nose.

Gnoth turned to his second in command and hissed, “Look at the sky. We attack when we see one of the Nine.”

Durk scratched his head. “Why, Leader Gnoth?”

Gnoth ground his teeth. “We create a diversion. The Nine have business in the village, and we help.

“A diversion! Good!”

“But we still kill!” Gnoth growled, turning around to glare at his stepson behind him, “The only good human is a dead human!”

Xajar, the son of Gnoth’s late concubine, nodded. Unlike the typical Mordor Uruk, he was short and broad-shouldered, dyed from head to foot in black designs on a deep red. Two short swords hung from his belt, armour plates covered his chest and back, and a strip of white mourning cloth hung limp and wet against his arm, signalling someone he loved had died less than a month ago.

None of Xajar’s weapons had ever drawn blood. This was his first raid, his first real battle.

He felt both excited and apprehensive. Xajar's clan lived in Mordor, worshipped Lord Sauron, and lived by raiding the villages around Gondor. It was their life, enforced by the splendour of the fiery eye over Barad-dur.

Uruk who returned from raids boasted of their kills. Would he survive this raid to do likewise? Would he fight with honor and courage? He was Uruk, after all, and Uruk were born to kill Men.

A loud, harsh screech split the sky. Something dark and huge flew by against the grey sky, blotting out the moon for a brief instant.

“Our signal.” Gnoth raised a horn to his lips and blew two shrill notes. Weapons slid out of scabbards with metallic screeches and the Uruk began their charge. Xajar pulled his twin swords out and ran.

Xajar almost ran into Gnoth as he slammed into the enemy. The Uruk’s charge became scattered as they attacked the disorganised Men. The rain beat a staccato on Xajar’s helmet, but through that and the clash of weapons also rose voices that were shriller and more treble. Xajar froze. What were the Men doing? Why were children and women here, at a scene of war?

But he had no time to think of children. Any minute now, he would get his first kill. Xajar stopped and breathed, adrenalin pounding through his veins as he looked around for likely warriors to attack.

A small Man ran between two Uruk and collided with his stomach. He pulled the Man away from him and lifted his sword, giddy at the thought of making his first kill, and waited for the Man to attack. But the small Man didn’t, instead raising his face to look at Xajar with terrified eyes. This wasn’t a Man, this was a child.

Robbed of his chance to take his first scalp, Xajar hissed, “Get out of here! No place for children!”

The boy stood frozen. Xajar took a threatening step toward him and howled into his face. The boy fell backwards. Still sitting down, he slithered backward, then got up and ran, away from the melee and into the forest.

Children! Xajar turned back into the thick of battle. Where were all the warriors? The Men fighting here were terrible – one would think they hadn’t been trained at all, the way they swung their swords around and the shock on their faces as Uruk swords drew life from their bodies.

A small Man in a skirt stumbled through the crowd, a babe in his… no her! arms. A woman? With a baby? Xajar was horrified. Uruk mothers were sheltered and hidden from the rest of the world, not running through battlefields with their babies! This was not how Gnoth had described the raids!

One of his Uruk comrades reached for the woman. Xajar leapt forward without thinking, pushed the Uruk warrior’s hand aside and grabbed her by the waist. The Uruk gave up his casual attempt with a jeering laugh.

Xajar had no idea what his comrade intended to do to the woman, but it couldn’t be anything good. He had to get the woman away from the fray.

The woman struggled, panicking. Xajar covered her mouth with a hand to prevent her from shrieking, and pulled her out of the thick of battle. He dragged her, still resisting, into a clump of trees where the others wouldn’t see them.

“Shut up!” he hissed in her ear. “When I let you go, run as fast you can, but don’t scream or they’ll catch you!”

She stood there frozen.

“Do you understand me?” he spoke slowly in Westron.

She nodded, and turned to look into his eyes. Her eyes widened in surprise. Good, he thought, she understood.

Xajar released her. She whispered, “thank you,” turned and ran into the forest, bedraggled skirt flapping around her ankles.

He leaned against a tree, trying to marshal his thoughts. This wasn’t what he had been told about raids. He had heard of famous victories over the legendary fighting Men of Gondor. But these were not soldiers, they were workers, or perhaps farmers. This wasn’t war, it was slaughter, and it turned his stomach.

The tree felt sturdy and rough against his back. The leaves rustled above him and he looked up, but could see nothing in the dark. Something whimpered to his left and he turned his head. Beside a bush sprawled a woman’s body, dead or wounded, clotting blood forming a sullen stain against a lilac sleeve. Beside her was a small girl child, sitting on the muddy ground, half-covered in mud, clinging to her mother’s skirt and looking at him with huge, frightened eyes. If his Uruk comrades found this child…! He lifted a finger to his lips in the universal signal for quiet.

“Xajar!” a voice rumbled, startling him.

Gnoth had found him. He stood six feet away and glared.

“Coming!” Xajar moved forward, trying to shield the child from Gnoth’s eyes.

Gnoth looked at him suspiciously and turned away, but unluckily a small whimper broke the silence.

Gnoth spun around. He pushed Xajar out of the way and spotted the little girl.

“So this is what you were hiding!”

Xajar shook his head, “What? No!”

Gnoth looked at him contemptuously. “Liar”

Xajar’s eyes slid away to the ground. He had feared and obeyed Gnoth under the lash for decades, and old habits die hard.

“Kill her.”

“What!” Xajar snapped.

“You heard me. Kill her!”

Xajar stepped back a couple of steps. “I won’t kill a child! It’s against the code!”

“Don’t babble! The only dead Man is a dead Man. That is our code. Didn’t your mother teach you?”

Xajar shook his head. He could not kill the child, but defying Gnoth made his skin crawl in terror. Inside his head, he heard his mother’s voice as if she were standing behind him “ _Never let the helpless be hurt. That’s your family’s code._ ”

Gnoth reached the end of his patience. He bellowed, “If you won’t, then get out of the way!” and took a step forward toward the child.

The child screamed. The tree rustled violently and a small Man dropped on all fours in front of the child.

Xajar stepped back in consternation. The creature was small, even shorter than him, and slimmer, with flyaway red-blond hair rebelliously escaping from thick braids, and a determined expression on his sweet, childlike face. Surely that was a dwarf? He wore a knitted cardigan and was holding a hefty book in front of himself, as if that would provide even a modicum of protection against Gnoth’s heavy sword.  

Not a soldier, but a gently-brought-up dwarf who had probably never held a weapon in his life. Xajar could not stand by and watch him be slaughtered. He did have a code, even if the other Uruk didn’t share it.

Xajar stepped between Gnoth and the pretty dwarf, his swords automatically poised. “Please, Gnoth. Let them go. They don’t matter – it’s the warriors we need to kill.”

“Much you know about it. We don’t just fight, we exterminate! Do you know what that means?”

Xajar shook his head, troubled.

“You mangy, useless cur!” Gnoth hissed. “I knew you weren’t worth the feeding! But your stupid mother wouldn’t listen, would she?”

Xajar shook his head, “She wasn’t stupid”, shaken by his own temerity in contradicting Gnoth.

“She was a stupid whore and you’re a useless sack of crap. I should have got rid of you ages ago. Move!” Gnoth’s voice was as hard as his eyes as he menacingly lifted his huge sword and massive shield, towering over the short Xajar.

The insult to his mother was not new – he had heard Gnoth call her much worse to her face. But he could not let the little dwarf and the child die. Xajar stood his ground.

Gnoth swung his sword, and Xajar parried with his own. Their swords clashed again and again, each clash sending shocks up his arms. This wasn’t a training duel. His stepfather was trying to kill him.

He tried every trick in the book, but he was trying to disarm Gnoth rather than kill him, and eventually that restraint felled him.

Xajar’s foot slipped half an inch on the sodden forest floor, and Gnoth found an opening. A sharp pain ran up Xajar’s thigh, and his leg gave way in sheer agony, making him close his eyes for a brief second. When he looked up, Gnoth stood above him, sword held high, his eyes murderous with rage.

Xajar tried to rise, but fell back. His mind blanked out as the sword prepared to come down.

But it didn’t. The little dwarf ran forward and attacked Gnoth, smashing him in the face with his heavy book, and Gnoth was driven backwards, his sword falling to the ground. The dwarf pressed his advantage, hitting him again with surprising strength, but Gnoth had recovered from his surprise. He grabbed the dwarf by the throat with a meaty hand.

The same harsh screech he had heard earlier tore through the night sky. Gnoth looked upward and wavered. He dropped the slim dwarf on the ground, raised a horn to his lips and blew three blasts. He picked up his sword, looked at Xajar for a long moment and said, “You are exiled.” He reached out and pulled Xajar’s birth amulet off his upper arm, leaving a bleeding scar in its’ wake. “You know the law. And if you break the law and return to Mordor, I’ll kill you myself.”

Gnoth sheathed his sword, and lumbered back the way he came.

Exiled!

The dwarf put an arm around Xajar’s back and propped him up.

“Can you speak Westron?” the dwarf asked in a raspy voice. Red finger marks stood out against the dwarf’s pale skin where Gnoth had grabbed him.

“Yes,” Xajar gritted out. As the adrenalin in his body ebbed, pain took over, drumming through his leg.

“I need to get you to a healer.”

“Exiled!” he muttered. “I am already dead.”

The sounds of boots grew louder and suddenly the clearing was full of people. A pair of boots stopped next to him. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the blow that would end his pain.

“Ori! What on earth are you doing here? And is that an orc??” the speaker sounded young.

“Gimli! Help me! This orc saved my life. And there’s a wounded woman. We need to get them to a healer!”

“Mahal! You don’t fool around, do you? I’ll get reinforcements. Let’s carry them to the village.”

A shrill whistle split the air and Xajar found himself picked up and carried.

Houses loomed out of the early morning mist, some burning, some ruined. Wounded men, women, and children lay on the grass, waiting for the healers. Some stared at him in disbelief.

Xajar was settled under a tree, where one of the dwarves gave him a potion to drink. He drank it before he realised it was probably a sleeping potion. Within seconds, he was fast asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Xajar opened his eyes, he felt a bit disoriented. Where was the night sky? Where was the Eye of Sauron? He was lying on a cot, instead of the ground. Above him was a grey canopy – a tent?. Next to the bed was a makeshift table with potions and instruments lying on it haphazardly.

He was in one of the healer’s tents. But why? How badly was he wounded?

He sat up gingerly and saw that his leg was neatly bandaged, but the breeches were torn open, bloodied and muddy. A quick check showed him the rest of his clothing and his weapons were intact. His twin swords lay by the bed on a strange shield, along with some other weapons.

He ran his hands over his body. Good. The daggers were still there. He reached for the closest one, under his arm, and prepared to slide it out.

The tent flap opened, and a little girl peeked in. It was the little girl he had saved the previous night, but almost unrecognisable – clean and fresh, dressed in a green frock, with green ribbons in her curly hair.

Xajar pushed the dagger back and smiled at her. His goal would have to wait. She smiled back shyly and ran out. A low hum of voices came from outside the tent, shadowy figures walked about, casting long shadows upon the sides of the tent.

Before Xajar could move, a Man entered slowly, deep frown lines on his forehead, tired eyes and pepper and salt beard. He wore breeches of a deep blue, with a moss green tunic, and a knitted jacket with several pockets. He checked Xajar’s wound, then pulse, and his eyes and mouth.

“Healing well. You dwarrows are disgustingly resilient.”

“I’m not…” but the healer had already turned away, picked up a couple of instruments from the table, thrust them into his pockets, and left.

Xajar sighed. Men were crazy. And was there no privacy in this place?

The tent flap opened. The little dwarf who had saved him came in. His braids were neater, and he wore brighter and definitely drier clothes. He carried a tray in his hands, with bread, a covered bowl, and a cup of tea.

Clearly no privacy.

“Good. You’re up. Have some breakfast and you’ll feel better.”

Xajar stared at the dwarf, the first one he had ever seen. He was short, shorter even than Xajar, with gentle eyes that were now smiling at him. Not handsome, no. Too small, too short, none of the hulking muscles and battle scars that made for male beauty in Mordor. But there was something fascinating about the little dwarf’s face and eyes.

What was his name? Oh yes – Ori!

Ori kept the tray on Xajar’s lap and uncovered the bowl. It was some kind of stew, with chunks of meat amid vegetables and sauce. It smelled heavenly and Xajar’s stomach rumbled.

“There you go. I bet you’re hungry.” Ori picked up a metal utensil of the kind Men used and handed it to him. 

“Thank you.” Xajar said gruffly, feeling strangely shy. He had no idea how to use the utensil so he kept it back on the tray, broke off a large chunk of the bread and dunked it in the stew instead. It tasted strange, but quite good. The meat was fresher than the meats he was accustomed to in Mordor.

“It’s the least I could do. You saved my life.” Ori smiled and placed a hand on Xajar’s arm. The touch felt like a small jolt of electricity and Xajar’s heartbeat speeded up.

That was strange. But not surprising, since no one but Adon had ever touched him with affection.

Xajar smiled uncertainly. That felt unnatural too. He had never smiled at anyone but his mother in his life. “You should not have jumped from the tree.”

“Well, I couldn’t stay there and let the child die, could I?”

Xajar nodded. “No. I could not, either.”

“You’ll be glad to know her mother is right as rain. Just a flesh wound and concussion. She’ll be fine in a day or two.”

Xajar nodded, relieved. The image of the woman sprawled on the ground would haunt his nightmares for a long time.

 “The little girl is awfully cute. She came in to take a look at you and ran up to me saying the little red man is awake.”

Xajar said uncertainly, “I’m not a Man. And this is madder,” referring to the deep rose-red dye that covered his shaved head and body, making his skin look like tanned leather. On top of the red base were intricate geometric designs in iron gall ink.

“But if the little girl calls you a little red man you’ll agree anyway.”

Xajar smiled slowly. The child was delightful. “Yes.”

“But are you an orc? You don’t look like them much. I know some Uruk paint themselves but so do some Men, and dwarrows, too…”

“I am Uruk,” he said flatly, the familiar query making him flush with anger. He had had enough of this back in Mordor, and the taunts of the taller Uruk still rang in his ear. However nice Ori was, Xajar wasn’t about to let anyone doubt his identity.

Ori gave him a sceptical look, but didn’t pursue the topic.

Xajar broke a chunk off the bread, dunked it in the stew and devoured it greedily. He was very hungry. Once the bread was all gone, he tipped the contents of the stew directly into his mouth. It was delicious. He washed it down with the tea, and sank back down in the bed, suddenly exhausted. For some brief moments, the young dwarf’s company had made him forget, but now it came back to him in a rush. He was a clan-less, family-less, friendless Uruk. By clan law he should have already killed himself. He had nothing to live for, anyway. Even if he wanted to survive, how could he? An exiled orc had no place in the world. Neither side would accept him.

He closed his eyes.

Ori drew the covers over him, and Xajar regretfully heard the dwarf leave. He slowly slipped into a disturbed sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Xajar was woken by the sound of harsh voices in front of the tent. He tried to get up, but was prevented by Ori’s soft hand pressing down on his arm.

There were people outside the tent, yelling. The sounds were cacophonous at first, but a refrain stood out: “Kill the Orc! Kill the Orc! Kill the Beast! Kill the Beast from Mordor!”

It was ironic. Xajar’s enemies were about to do in public what Xajar could not manage to do in private. He hoped it would be painless.

He leaned back against his pillow wearily. “It is all right. It’s over, anyway.”

“Hush!”

A voice shouted and the chanters grew quiet. There seemed to be about 14-15 persons outside.

The shouting grew. The tent flap was pulled aside and several villagers came in. Some were carrying swords.

Xajar lifted his hands and placed them atop his head. He would not resist.

The healer stepped between Xajar and the angry villagers. “First of all, you aren’t going to kill any patient of mine. If you attack my patient, I’ll go back to Minas Tirith right now, and you can have all the fun of finding another healer for your wounded.”

“Second of all,” and the healer drew an extremely nasty looking, curved dagger, “if anyone moves a step forward I promise to hurt you in the worst way possible. I’m a healer – I know what hurts. And thirdly, you’re all morons. My patient is not an Orc, he’s a dwarf.”

Xajar froze. He was Uruk! But perhaps this wasn't the best time to say that.

One of the Men yelled, “Look at him! He’s hairless and painted. He can’t be a dwarf!”

The healer replied, “Ever heard of razors and dyes? He’s probably a spy from some eastern dwarven kingdom. I assure you he’s a pure dwarf. When he came here, he had not a drop of blood on his weapons. On the contrary - do you see that little girl over there? He risked his life to protect her and had his leg cut open with an orc sword. Now make of all that what you will.”

Xajar’s ears pricked up in horror. Was the little girl in the tent? What kind of monsters would let a little girl watch a slaughter?

His question was answered as the little girl jumped into his lap and put her arms around his neck.

“Uff,” he grunted.

The girl turned and screamed something at the Men, but Xajar couldn’t make it out. She turned and hugged him tightly and burst into tears.

Xajar felt his eyes burning. Unnatural. He didn’t cry.

The healer said, “There you go. Out of the mouths of babes…”

Someone screamed from the back, “Take Elwing back! He’ll hurt her!” He opened his eyes and glared at them, but no one stepped forward. The child – Elwing – snuggled into him.

A woman’s voice rose above the cacophony, “Is this true? Did he save her?” The crowd fell silent.

Ori replied softly, “Yes, and me at the same time. I owe him my life. If you want to kill him, you’ll go through me, and believe me your chieftain will not enjoy explaining that to the Steward. I’m a diplomat from Erebor.”

There was silence. Xajar cradled the girl in his arms, then looked up and grunted, “Take the child outside. This is no place for a child.” 

A woman stepped forward. The child clung, but Xajar said, “It’ll be all right,” and the child finally went to the woman, who carried her out.

There was silence for a while, then an elderly Man leaning on a staff stepped forward. “Can I take a closer look?”

Ori looked at him for a moment, then moved aside. The man hobbled forward, bent and inspected Xajar’s bandages, and heaved a sigh. He turned around and said, “Let him be. He’s no orc.”

The tent emptied. The healer and Ori stepped outside the tent as well.

Xajar felt drained. If he ever needed a demonstration that, cut off from his clan, he could not survive, this was it. Wherever he went, Men and Dwarves would fear him and try to kill him. There would be no Ori to take his part.

He had put it off long enough.

He reached under his left sleeve and a slim but deadly dagger slipped into his hand. He closed his eyes, raised a hand to his neck and felt for the jugular vein. He prepared to strike.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Nine are, of course, our old friends the Nine Riders from LOTR, looking for the One Ring. The shadow in the sky is a fellbeast. Xajar's wearing a mourning cloth for his foster mother Adon, recently deceased.


	2. Chapter 2: Destination Minas Tirith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori makes Xajar an offer he can't refuse.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Startled, Xajar dropped the knife, and it bounced under the bed.

“I spent hours stitching you up! You’re not going to ruin that beautiful work by dying now!”

Xajar stuttered, “I was… wasn’t…”

“Oh yeah?”

“Hey! What did he do?”

“Your friend here was trying to kill himself.”

Ori’s jaw dropped. “Xajar – why?”

Xajar shook his head, his throat tight. Why did he hesitate? He should have finished it before Ori came back. He couldn’t bear to see contempt in Ori’s eyes.

“How could you? Why? You can’t just throw away your life like that!” Ori’s voice rose and Xajar shrunk back, covering his face with his arm.

To his horror, tears ran down his cheeks and he brushed them away angrily. “Have to do it.”

He placed his hands over his face, and to his consternation, broke down. Curled up into himself, wracked by sobs, part of his brain prepared to flinch at the words of contempt that would be thrown in his face.

Instead Ori sat on the bed next to him, and placed a warm hand on Xajar’s shoulder.

“Could you give us a few minutes?” Ori asked the healer.

“After you’ve taken away all his knives,” the healer replied.

“What knives?”

“Take his clothes off. And don’t forget his boots.”

“What?”

Xajar smiled through his tears and looked up. Ori was obviously having some trouble understanding the concept of hidden weapons.

When he looked again, Ori was looking him up and down. “Hidden weapons?”

Ori placed a hand on Xajar’s boot, but Xajar quickly pulled his foot back. “Ori, no!”

“Shut up!”

Ori held Xajar’s right ankle down with one hand and tried to extend his left leg with the other, but Xajar tightened his muscles and refused to be moved. Giving up that tack, Ori took his own boots off, and hopped up on the bed. He sat down on Xajar’s good leg, which gave him leverage to take the other boot off.

Xajar yelled, “Get off!!”

He tried to push Ori away, but Ori wouldn’t budge, his firm behind pressed against Xajar’s leg in a very distracting away, which made Xajar even angrier.

“Not in front of him!”

“I’m going,” the healer growled. “But if your friend kills himself, it’s on your head, little dwarf!”

When the healer left, closing the tent flap behind him, Xajar grinned mirthlessly. “Now strip me naked if you want.”

Ori whacked him on the arm, hard.

Xajar jumped. “What was that for?”

“You.. you moron! You raddled cream of asparagus! You tried to kill yourself!” Ori dashed his hand across his eyes.

“You are crying.”

“Of course I’m crying! What did you expect me to do? Laugh?”

Xajar was bewildered. “Why…?”

“Because I like you! Because you saved my life! Because I thought we could be friends!”

Xajar closed his eyes. “I have no friends.”

“No wonder, with that attitude.” Ori took a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose.

“Will you be my friend?”

“What?”

“Will you?”

Ori put an arm around Xajar, and gave him a half-hug, “Friends.”

Xajar gave a little laugh but had to stop, or he would cry again.

Ori pulled back. “I’m sorry, but I really have to take those knives, you know. May I?”

“Yes,” Xajar shrugged.

Ori went to work. He took off Xajar’s boots, unstrapped the belts holding three daggers around each ankle, and dropped them, knives and all, on the floor. Every time Ori’s soft fingers touched Xajar’s feet, he felt a tingle of warmth. If this was having a friend, it was nice.

Xajar pulled his legs back and tucked his bare feet under his thighs as Ori pulled two more daggers out of his boots.

Ori pulled Xajar’s clothes off very carefully. He efficiently undressed Xajar down to his underwear, till there was a pile of weapons on the floor, and another pile of dirty clothes. He searched the bed next, moving Xajar aside as he did, and a few more weapons joined the others. Xajar felt naked.

“Did you know you were wearing your own weight in weapons?”

“You missed one.” Xajar grinned.

Ori covered his face with one hand. “Don’t tell me you have a weapon in your shorts!”

Xajar unstrapped a belt around the very top of his thigh, and dropped it, with a dagger attached, on the floor.

Ori sighed, collected all the weapons, tied them into a large bag, and deposited the bag near the tent flap.

He came back and stood at the foot of the bed, looking Xajar over.

“What are you staring at?”

Ori shook his head, “It’s just – your body paint. You have paint all over! Well, maybe not under the shorts. That would be quite interesting.”

Xajar didn’t know what that meant.

Ori grinned, “You have some beautiful motifs there. Are they supposed to mean anything?”

“I don’t know. My mother did it.”

“Do all the Uruk have these designs?”

“No, just me. I don’t know why.” Xajar felt tired. He closed his eyes.

Ori didn’t reply, but he was clearly walking around the tent. After a few minutes, a warm cup was placed in his hands. “Here, have this.”

Xajar couldn’t refuse. He sipped the tea, feeling its calming warmth course through his body.

“I used these on daggers and scabbards.” He touched a shaded diamond-shaped design on his thigh sadly, “My first knife. These three,” he smoothed his hand over his flat stomach, on which were three circular designs, “were three daggers.”

Another anxiety gripped him, and he asked Ori softly, “Will you give them away?”

“Give what away?”

“My weapons.”

“No, of course not! They’re yours! Why do you ask?”

Xajar didn’t reply, but memories of several weapons being stolen or simply taken from him by Gnoth and his Uruk comrades came back to him.

“They always do.”

“Do what?”

“Take away my weapons. They said the slaves don’t make any as good.”

Ori looked a bit befuddled, but his brow cleared, “You mean you made these weapons? All of them?”

Xajar nodded.

Ori shook his head. “I will return them to you later… when I’m sure you won’t try again.”

Xajar didn’t reply. He was still an exile, and there was only one route open to Uruk exiles. He shrugged.

Ori sat down and held Xajar’s hand. “Do you want to tell me about it? Sometimes it does the heart good to share your sorrows.”

Xajar shook his head. How could he even begin to start telling this gently-bred creature what his life had been, and still was? But the warmth of Ori’s hand was mesmerising, and Xajar tightened his grip.

“Look, why don’t you come with us to Erebor?”

Xajar’s head jerked up, “What?”

“Come with us,” Ori said kindly, “We are leaving in a month. I’m sure we can find work for you in Erebor.”

“Work?”

“Yes, you can fight. You could join the army.”

Xajar gave a short laugh, “I can’t. I am Uruk.”

Ori fell silent for a while. Then he said, “But then, why did you save us the other day?”

“It’s not right. Not right to kill children.” Xajar’s hands shook in rage, “This was my first raid. I thought we would battle warriors. Just poor farmers, and women and children. It was slaughter,” he said bitterly.

Ori moved forward, and put his arms around Xajar, and held him close. Warmth and the scent of lavender, ink and paper engulfed him. He wanted to hold on and never let go. He returned the embrace, pressing his cheek against Ori’s. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Ori pulled back. “Can I ask you something?”

Xajar felt bereft. He wanted Ori back in his arms.

“Yes?” he asked, looking down.

“Why did you try to – you know”

“Kill myself?”

“Yes.”

“It’s the clan law. If you’re exiled, you die. Because you are no use to the Lord anymore.”

Ori sighed, “You keep calling yourself Uruk, but the healer said you’re not, that you’re a dwarf.”

“I am Uruk.” Xajar turned away, hoping that was the end of the discussion. But Ori, for all his soft speech, was apparently obstinate.

“I’m not saying you’re not, but just think. Uruk are typically taller than Men, with dark hair, black eyes, short noses, and pointed ears like elves. You have blue eyes, round ears, a long nose, and, from what I can see of the fuzz, blond hair. Don’t you think it’s possible you at least have a dwarf father?”

Xajar pulled his hands back from Ori’s grasp.

Ori backed off. “All right. I’m not going to insist. But my offer stands. Come to Erebor. Don’t be a warrior. Be a swordsmith. Believe me good swords are worth their weight in gold. You can have a good life in Erebor, doing what you like to do.”

Xajar looked up. He wavered.

“I’ll let you think about it. But while you think, come to Minas Tirith with me. We’ll be staying there a few weeks. That’ll give you time to decide.”

Ori stood up. “I’ll go get these washed and get you some new clothes. Please, don’t try anything. We are friends, aren’t we? I don’t want to lose you just as I’ve found you.”

Xajar blushed. Ori was really, really nice. He smiled and nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~

 

A few days later

Xajar finished packing his belongings into a large knapsack. He had a few sets of clothes that Ori had bought for him in the village, some potions and herbs to build up his strength, and all of his weapons, other than three small daggers strategically placed about his body.

The tent flap opened and Ori came in. “Ready?”

“Yes.” He tried to heft the bag but failed. Ori took it from him and went out.

Xajar picked up his cane and limped outside. The sun was out, and the village was brimming with activity. Homes were being repaired, and the villagers were milling around. Two of them smiled and nodded to him, and he bowed, grinning.

Little Elwing ran across the clearing and threw herself at him. “Don’t go!” she cried out.

Xajar picked her up and hugged her. “I have to go, my darling. But perhaps we’ll meet again, when you’re all grown up?”

“Promise?”

“I promise I will come back here in 10 or 15 years if I am still alive.”

“You can’t die!” Elwing booped his nose.

Xajar laughed and hugged her tightly. “I’ll miss you, little buttercup.”

Elwing’s parents came up and Xajar handed the child back to her father. Elwing’s mother was much recovered, but her wound was still healing.

She reached into a pocket and took out a small package. “This is for you, Master Xajar. Something to remember us by.”

Xajar opened the package to find a small chain with a cowrie pendant. He drew it around his neck and said, “I’ll always wear this.”

She kissed him on the cheek, which naturally meant Elwing had to kiss him too. After a last, lingering hug, Elwing’s parents took her away.

Ori helped Xajar climb on the side-saddle, which would take the pressure off the wounded leg.

“Are you ready?”

Xajar looked down at Ori loftily. “More than you.”

“Ungrateful beast! You can mount the pony by yourself next time!”

Xajar chuckled, feeling an unusual feeling of contentment as Ori got up on his pony and straightened. “But you like it!”

“Like what?”

“To help people!”

Ori rolled his eyes. “Not you too! I’m hardly a do-gooder, whatever Gimli might say!”

Several people had gathered to see them go, and there were still farewells to be said before they could leave.

The villagers were clearly much friendlier than they had been a week ago, but not all of them had been convinced. As they turned, someone from the crowd yelled out. “Good riddance – Beast of Mordor!”

Ori burst out laughing. “Come on, you beast, or we’ll never get there.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

They started off toward Minas Tirith at a slow walk, Ori staying close to Xajar, who had never ridden before, and had a bad leg, to boot.

“Ori, who’s Gimli?”

“He’s the one who carried you to the healer.”

“Your friend?”

“Yes. He’s very young, but so responsible for his age. He’s the son of the Lord of the Treasury and doesn’t really need to work, but he goes on patrol anyway.”

“Likes to fight?”

Ori shook his head. “Not really. He doesn’t get into fights, if you know what I mean. But he is a Durin, and the Durins have always protected Erebor. Well, most of them, anyway.”

“Sounds nice.” Xajar felt hollow. Ori would forget Xajar for this paragon of excellence once they reached the city.

But he could not let his mind go that road. It was easy, far too easy to slip down the chute of negative thoughts.

He shut his eyes briefly and imagined a forge, burning deep within Erebor, where he would create beautiful, strong daggers. And perhaps more. The smithing slaves in Mordor mostly just made weapons, so Xajar hadn’t had a chance to learn how to make anything else. Jewellery would be nice. He could make bracelets or brooches or pendants for Ori, to show him how grateful he was; they would look lovely against his creamy skin.

But his dreams came down to earth with a thud - jewellery makers in Erebor would not be slaves who would teach him for free. They would require an apprenticeship, and Xajar didn’t have the money for that. Not yet, at least. If daggers sold well, he could make the money. But there were so many hurdles to cross before that could come to pass.

But he had to try. He needed to find a purpose for his life. Dying didn’t seem as palatable as it had a few days ago.

They came out of the forest onto the plains and finally, when they rode over a ridge, Minas Tirith came into sight, gleaming elegantly silver in the bright sunlight.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ori asked. “I’ve done a few sketches of the city, but none from the angle. Do you mind waiting while I do a sketch? We’ll just be a little late getting there.”

Xajar shook his head. Ori helped him get off the pony, and the two of them tied the ponies to a tree and sat down, Xajar resting with his back against the tree, Ori sketching wildly, his pencil flying over the paper, screwing up his face adorably when he had to erase. It was very peaceful. Xajar could have sat there forever.

But the world of Mordor returned to his notice suddenly in a faraway screech. A winged creature flew east high above Minas Tirith’s towers. Xajar felt an impulse to leap in front of Ori protectively, but he could barely walk.

Ori turned and smiled to see him watching. “Shall we go?”

“All right.” Ori helped him to his feet, and Xajar limped over to the pony and got up, with Ori’s help.

They set off again in companionable silence, Ori pointing out landmarks on the way, and Xajar absorbing it all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like the fic, please leave kudos - it only takes a second and it means so much. :):) Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3 - Discoveries at Minas Tirith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xajar is revealed as a dwarf, courtesy a piece of candy and a rock. But letting go of his Uruk identity is not easy.   
>  

As they neared the city, Xajar pulled his hood over his head, and drew his scarf across his face. But hardly anyone was looking at him. The bustle of the city was very different from that of the village. He got some curious looks, but no one screamed in horror or attacked him. Warriors walked around, tall and proud, with long swords and leather armour. Now these were the warriors he should have fought. Would he have won against them?  Perhaps. He might never know.

The ponies clattered into the courtyard of a respectable inn.

“Most of the soldiers who came with our caravan are billeted here,” said Ori, hefting both their bags. He walked into the inn, and Xajar limped after him.

Ori went to the desk and spoke with the innkeeper who threw Xajar a curious glance but did not comment. They walked through a maze of corridors, lined with doors on either side. Xajar leaned on his cane and limped behind Ori. From behind one door came the sound of merry laughter.

The door opened and a dwarf about Xajar’s height came out. His thick dark hair was in braids, as was his huge beard. He grinned widely. “Ori! Come on in! And this must be the person who saved you?”

“Xajar, this is Mori. Mori, Xajar. Is Gimli in?”

Gimli, to Xajar’s relief, turned out to be not intimidating at all, but a very young dwarf with a thick red beard and laughing eyes.

Xajar sank down on a soft settee with a sigh of relief. His back was in agony from all the riding. Mori brought out hot tea and some cookies – just what he needed.

The conversation washed over him. He tried to focus, but after riding all day, he was bone tired. He listened without any real interest, and replied briefly whenever they asked him a question.

But Xajar’s ears perked up as Ori described what had happened in the village after the soldiers had returned to the city. He realised with relief that Ori was not going to reveal his suicide attempt. But Ori did tell the others about the healer’s insistence that Xajar was not Uruk. It had to be done, he supposed.

Gimli turned to Xajar and said, “You know, I would agree. Whatever you call yourself is all right with us, but it’s impossible to get Ereborean citizenship if you are an Orc.”

Xajar shook his head, “I cannot change what I am just for a place!”

Ori smiled wryly, “Everyone does that to an extent, you know. Didn’t you ever change something about yourself to belong to Mordor?”

If anyone but Ori had said it, Xajar would have rejected it outright, but Ori’s soft voice had short-circuited his defenses.

“Hair. I used to shave. It’s growing a bit now.” Xajar moved his hand over the light blond fuzz atop his head.

Gimli grinned, “If you ask me, it’s rather fetching. Once you grow your beard out as well, you’ll look lovely, like a fuzzy lion toy.”

Ori slapped Gimli on the arm, “Stop it. He’s not used to your teasing.”

“He never will be if he stays with you!” Gimli turned to Xajar and said, “You’d better hang out with us too, or you’ll turn into another Ori, all politeness and hard work.”

Xajar shook his head and smiled. Ori? Polite?

Gimli threw a cushion at Ori, “Talking about work, Uncle Balin has come here twice, looking for you. I think he’s starting work on the final draft treaty.”

Ori threw the cushion back and jumped up, “Oh I forgot it was Tuesday! I have to go! Gimli, Mori, look after him. I’ll be back at night!”

Gimli got up to slam the door shut behind Ori and turned to the others, “All right, boys, who’s for some roast chicken and a game of Weapons?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was surprisingly easy to live with Gimli and Mori. They joked with him, and teased him, but left him alone whenever he needed solitude. The food was entirely strange, but he could get used to it. The meat was fresher, and Gondorians used spices from the east, such as cumin, cardamom, and cloves, that lent it a fragrance he had never known before.

Three days later, Xajar had a visitor. Ori brought in a broad-shouldered older dwarf, with a full white beard, and a handsome, kindly face, dressed in silks, leather and gold. His eyes were intelligent and keen, and his expression gentle and understanding. This must be the dwarf Ori worked for: Lord Balin, Royal Advisor of Erebor.

Once the introductions were made, and after some small talk, Lord Balin said, “Ori tells me you’re a good swordsmith.”

“I make daggers. Swords need assistants.”

Lord Balin nodded. “True, I’ve helped make swords, in my day, although my main work was in gold. I still make jewellery occasionally. But for swords you need at least two people, and three is even better. But if you know how to make swords, it’s easy enough to join the guild and take on apprentices.”

Xajar smiled, shaking his head, “Dwarves won’t work with me.”

Ori said softly, “We call our people dwarrows, you know, not dwarves.”

Xajar said “Oh.”

An awkward silence ensued.

Lord Balin broke the silence first by saying gently. “I know you feel you won’t be accepted in Erebor. And that’s probably true to some extent. Almost everyone in Erebor has personal reasons to hate the Uruk. Every family has lost someone to Uruk raids.”

“That’s why I wasn’t sure.” Xajar looked at Ori, but Ori was looking at Lord Balin.

“That’s something you need to be sure of before you decide. I’m not saying we won’t welcome you even if you were actually Uruk, because you saved my… assistant, and just for that I and Erebor will protect you.” Lord Balin put an arm around Ori and pulled him closer. Xajar looked away, an uncomfortable suspicion growing in his mind.

“But,” Lord Balin continued, “If there’s some dispute about whether you’re dwarf or Uruk, I would suggest you try to resolve that before you travel with us.”

Xajar was about to snap back with his usual retort, but somehow he couldn’t do it in front of this kindly dwarf who could almost be his father. He gritted his teeth and said, “How?”

“That’s why I am here, my boy.” He dug into his pocket and took out a small box and tossed it to Xajar. Xajar caught it easily.

“Open it.”

The box contained some coloured, translucent pieces of rock.

“Try one. It’s just candy. Pop it in your mouth.”

Xajar had a bad feeling about this, but he obediently put one of the pieces into his mouth, and gasped at the incredible taste that exploded in his mouth. It was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted, with several spicy flavours he could not identify. He sucked on the candy greedily.

“Oh that’s good!” Xajar closed his eyes, enjoying the lush sweetness.

“Well, that settles it. You’re not Uruk.”

Xajar felt the conversation was running away with him. “What?”

“I need to tell you a little story. A long time ago, several Uruk entered Erebor under heavy disguise, as immigrants, and it was by sheer luck that we discovered what they were.”

Xajar didn’t understand where the older dwarf was going with this.

Lord Balin went on, “A city patrol found three of them passed out near the market at night, blabbering to themselves, their false hair and beards all over the place. Apparently they had bought this candy, a special Ereborean mix of sugar and spices. After we arrested them and tested different foods on them we found out that this particular candy poisons orc blood, acting like a drug. If you were an orc, or even half-orc, you’d be in a corner dribbling down your chest right now.”

Xajar took a deep breath, but couldn’t speak. His throat was painfully tight. He closed his hands into fists to hide that fact that they were shaking. Years of taunts skittered over the surface of his memory – “Nar”, “Nar”, “Nar” – that’s what they had called him, the slang they used for non-Uruk.

He covered his face with his hands. Had they been right all along?

He felt a gentle arm go around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry Xajar, but we have another test. Can you bear it?”

He looked up fuzzily. “What test?”

Lord Balin said softly, “This is to see whether you’re dwarf, and not Man or Elf.”

Xajar watched through a haze as Lord Balin took a pouch out of his pocket and slid a stone out of it. A smooth black stone that was so highly polished it glittered. He handed it to Xajar.

“It’s ancient stone from Khazad-dum. Hold it in your hands.”

Xajar’s hands shook, but the moment he closed his hands over the stone he felt a little calmer. The stone slowly started to warm up in his hands.

“Close your eyes. Focus on how the stone feels in your hands.”

Xajar closed his eyes. The stone warmed again but not unbearably. It was so smooth it almost felt soft in his hands. Then he felt it – tendrils of sensation linking the stone to his consciousness. It was the oddest feeling and yet familiar. The stone was calling to him, singing to him. He almost didn’t notice when the sensation grew into actual music, first faint, then gaining strength. The stone was singing to him!

He rubbed the stone gently with his palms, and felt the music rise again, the sweetest he had ever heard. Then the music died down. He felt empty again.

He opened his eyes. Lord Balin was looking at him with approval.

Ori put an arm around him comfortingly.

“Did I do wrong?” he asked, returning the stone to Lord Balin.

“No, laddie. You’re definitely a dwarf. The music proves it. And from the music I would venture to say you’re a Longbeard, like us.”

Lord Balin’s words were a comfort, of a kind. At least he knew what he was. But the weight of losing his identity as Uruk, an identity for which he had fought all his life, still pressed on his shoulders.

“I’ll see you later, Balin?” Ori said.

“Oh. Yes, yes, certainly.”

Xajar saw the elder dwarf leave through a fog. He had started shaking. Ori got up, and in a short while a cup of tea was placed in his hands. He gulped it down, feeling the warmth and sweetness fill him.

“You knew?”

“I knew you weren’t Uruk when I helped clean up your wound. Uruk blood is black, yours is red. Don’t tell me you never noticed.”

And the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. The designs on his body were created for a purpose, to hide the color of his blood when he bled. Uruk always used black cloth for their bandages so the color would not have shown on the bandages either. He himself had sometimes noticed his blood was a different color, but he had put it down to his youth, and dismissed it from his mind.

Which meant his mother had known. Of course she had known. How did she end up with a dwarfling?

Gnoth must have known, too. Else they could never have hidden it, not with all the whippings Gnoth had given him over the years.

Ori pulled Xajar’s head onto his shoulder and held him as he cried.

Some time later, Xajar raised his head. “I’ll come to Erebor. With you.”

Ori handed Xajar a soft handkerchief. “Good. What made you change your mind?”

Xajar wiped his face, then blew his nose, and leaned back. “If I am not Uruk, I do not have to end my life. Erebor could be my home. I might even find my family?”

Ori kissed him on the brow. “I’ll be your family till you find your own, and that’s a promise.”

Xajar looked up at Ori, “That’s… oh you are so good! I don’t deserve this.”

“Let me worry about what you deserve.”

Xajar smiled and hugged Ori again, feeling very much comforted.


	4. Chapter 4 - Ori’s heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even Xajar, with his lurid background and strange appearance, would be a better choice than the dwarf Ori had fallen in love with.

Balin finished reading the finished treaty and handed it over to Ori. “There – all three copies are fine. Are you meeting the Steward’s assistants tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, at 10. Getting all the signatures will take the whole day.” Ori sighed.

Balin looked at him and smiled. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, honestly. I promise I’ll make it up to you later.”

Ori lifted the heavy, bound copies of the treaty, put them away in the cupboard and locked it.

A hard rap at the door made him straighten. Lord Glóin and Gimli walked in.

Ori bowed to Lord Glóin and nodded at Gimli with a smile.

“I knew they’d still be working.” Gimli said accusingly.

“On the contrary, laddie, we just finished. Were you looking for me?” Balin smiled affectionately.

“Always, Uncle Balin, always.” Gimli laughed, “I bear gifts – well, no. Just something for you to sign.”

“And after you sign that, you’re coming with us for dinner.” Lord Glóin said comfortably, sitting back on the settee and putting his feet up on a tiny footstool.

Balin read the papers, “A permit for your friend to travel with us to Erebor?”

“Gimli - you remembered!” Ori exclaimed, “You’re the best!”

Balin read both the papers, “And a certificate that he’s a dwarf. I don’t mind signing these, but are you sure you want to take him to Erebor? Erebor doesn’t take kindly to Orcs. I know he isn’t one, but he grew up in Mordor…”

Ori felt a sudden surge of anger. He knew there would be opposition to Xajar going to Erebor, but he hadn’t expected it from this quarter. “He was exiled by his clan in Mordor for refusing to kill a child!”

Balin blinked and looked up. “Steady, lad. I didn’t say I wouldn’t sign.”

Ori looked away, his lower lip trembling.

Balin signed both the papers and handed them to Gimli, “How’s he settling in with you?”

“Very well, Uncle Balin. He’s a bit strange, but quite nice. He kicks Mori’s backside in Weapons. Mori’s been racking his brains trying to figure out how he does it. I’m not kidding – I heard him last night, working out strategies in his sleep.”

Balin laughed. “And you, does he kick your behind in anything?”

“Oh I’m hopeless at Weapons anyway! But no one touches me at the Beanbox!”

Ori asked Gimli, “Gimli, where is he?”

“At the inn, I reckon. Don’t worry – he keeps the door locked when we’re not around.”

“I’d better take the papers to him.” Ori took the papers from Gimli and turned to leave.

“Wait a moment, lad.”

Ori turned. He wasn’t feeling in charity with Balin at the moment, but he couldn’t openly defy him either. Not in front of the others.

“Sit down.”

Ori sat down, seething.

Balin patted him on the arm, “Now, you do have to give it a think, Ori. Where is he going to stay? How is he going to live?”

Ori shook his head, “He’ll stay with us, of course. Dori and I. He’s a weaponsmith – if the guild gives him a place at the forge, he can make his own way.”

Lord Glóin sat up, “Why does he have to go to Erebor? Not that I mind, but he’d probably be better off in some mixed society. Like Gondor. Or Dale.”

Ori was thinking about his answer but Balin stepped in, “Gondor isn’t that mixed. A dwarf who grew up in Mordor wouldn’t be welcome. Erebor should be more welcoming – at least he is a dwarf.”

“They’ll find him funny-looking at first. I mean, I did. But I’m sure they’ll get used to him. We have all sorts.” Gimli put in. His expression turned mischievous, “We have loads of dwarrows who are covered with tattoos.”

Balin gave Gimli a reproving look, and turned to Ori, “It won’t be an easy life for him, you know. I know you’re his friend, but his chances of finding his birth family or getting a family by marriage are close to nil.”

Ori pursed his lips. “I’ve sworn to him that I’ll be his family till he finds his own, and I will not break my word.”

Balin’s eyebrows drew closer together. “That was rash.”

Ori got up, shaking. “I don’t care! None of you understand! He has no one – no family, no clan, no home, no friends. He will die without support and right now I’m the only one who cares. I will not abandon him!”

“Ori!”

Ori pulled out his handkerchief and quickly mopped his eyes. “I’m sorry, Lord Balin. I’m tired. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

Ori left the room and paused, trying to remember which corridor was the quickest way to the exit. From behind him, he heard Lord Glóin’s booming voice. “Whatever is the matter? Is he in love?”

Ori gave a short laugh. If only he were in love. Rather, if only he were in love with Xajar. Even Xajar, with his lurid background and strange appearance, would be a better choice than the dwarf he had fallen in love with.


	5. Chapter 5 - On the road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey from Gondor to Erebor takes three months, enough for Ori and Xajar to become close friends. But Ori is hiding something from Xajar.

Dawn was just breaking over Minas Morgul on the eastern horizon as the Erebor delegation set off from Minas Tirith.

Ori helped Xajar climb onto a pony, and got onto his own. It was a cold morning and there was a bite in the air. Ori reached out and pulled Xajar’s hood over his head. They waited outside the city as the caravan prepared to leave Gondor.

“Is it time yet? Seems a long time since Gimli and Mori left?” Xajar asked.

Ori laughed, “That’s because they lead the fifty-strong vanguard. The Royal Advisor’s entourage was next, and now you see the chariots and horses of the higher officials and higher ranking soldiers. Once they pass, it’ll be our turn. The good thing is we’ll be close to the cook and the provision carts!”

“Is there a rear guard as well? I thought I saw a large group of soldiers at the back.”

“Yes, fifty soldiers. The entire caravan numbers over five hundred.”  

“Sounds like we’ll take a long time to reach Erebor.”

“Three months, less if we make good time and are not attacked.”

“Attacked?”

“Orc raids have been on the rise recently. But don’t worry. Orc raiders would have to be monumentally stupid or desperate to attack a 500-strong caravan of Ereborian dwarrows, most of them warriors.”

It was a quiet group that set out, shivering slightly in the cold, but they got livelier as the sun rose, and Xajar found the noise and chatter around oddly comforting.

Xajar mostly rode in silence, content to listen to Ori telling him stories about Erebor, about his brothers Dori and Nori, about Lord Balin, who was not only Royal Advisor, but in line for the throne, and according to Ori a much better choice than the current heir, who spent his days in idleness and mischief, and was the despair of his uncle, the King.

They stopped for lunch, and both Xajar and Ori got off their ponies to stretch their legs. Xajar led the horses over to a nearby tree and flung their reins over an upward jutting branch.

“Well, well, well.”

Xajar turned to see two dwarrows walking up to Ori. He shrunk away slightly, feeling hostility coming off them. But strangely, the hostility seemed to be directed at Ori, not at him.

“Look who’s here - the blue-eyed boy himself. Thought you’d be cozying up to the Royal Advisor at the front, not stuck here like the rest of us commoners.”

“Thrak. Still wandering around shiftless, are we?”

Thrak, a dwarf of about Ori’s age, with a thick orange beard that merged into his eyebrows, sneered. “Better than you, oiling into the seat of power via the couch.”

Ori retorted in a voice so dripping with contempt Xajar almost didn’t recognise it, “If that were true, at least I’d be getting some, and not being locked up for stalking a married dwarrowdam!”

The other dwarrow, who had been watching this exchange with amusement, snapped to attention. He asked, “Say what? Thrak, you didn’t tell me! Who was she??”

“There’s nothing to tell! The guards were bribed! I wasn’t stalking her!”

“At least you admit you were locked up.”

“I admit nothing! Watch your back, Ori son of Ri!” And Thrak flounced off, followed by his companion.

When they had left, Ori turned to Xajar and smiled, “Brothers are useful things to have.”

Xajar couldn’t understand what any of that was all about. “Who are they?”

“Thrak bullied me in school. He can’t bear it that I am assistant to the Royal Advisor while he has achieved exactly nothing - other than having more money than he knows how to spend.”

Xajar nodded. He knew all about being bullied. He forbore to ask any more, and they quietly went over to the food carts to collect their lunch.

Travelling in a caravan wasn’t half bad. There were those who stared at him, and Thrak glared whenever he went by, but Xajar soon got used to that. The food was as good as it could get on a long journey, mostly hot stew and waybread, which reminded Xajar of the first meal Ori had given him. There were freshwater streams all along the way, so their canteens were always full.

The fresh air was pleasant, too, after Mordor’s sooty, sulphuric smog. But the best was Ori’s presence. Ori was a natural story-teller, and told Xajar stories that mingled with real histories until it was all a blur. Xajar’s favourite tale was the reclamation of Erebor by the legendary hero Thorin Oakenshield, and his killing of the dragon Smaug. And when Ori told him that Lord Balin had fought at King Thorin’s side, Xajar’s respect for Lord Balin grew several-fold. Although something about Ori’s relationship with Lord Balin didn’t sit well with him at all. Not that it was any of his business, of course.

The nights were fine and dry, so everyone slept under the sky, except the top officials, who had their own tents.

Sleeping under a canopy of trees was nice, without the roar of Mount Doom in his ear and Barad-dur’s all-seeing Eye looming over him. They slept side by side on camp-beds, Ori often throwing an arm around Xajar, which was the pleasantest sensation he had felt for a long time. He didn’t understand it and couldn’t analyse it, not having much experience with being touched. All he knew was that he longed for something more, something intangible that he couldn’t put into words.

But some nights Ori disappeared and Xajar missed him. At first he thought Ori had just gone to find a convenient bush, but Ori sometimes didn’t return for hours. And when he did, he pulled his bedding a couple of feet away from Xajar’s before going to sleep again.

One night, when Ori came back, Xajar was lying awake, looking at the stars.

“Ori?”

“Yes, it’s me. Go back to sleep.”

“Where were you?”

“I went for a walk. Don’t worry about it. Go to sleep.”

Xajar turned on his side, but couldn’t sleep. Thoughts mobbed his brain until his head hurt. That Ori kept secrets from Xajar should not be shocking - after all, they were recent friends. But it still dimmed Ori’s aura a little. Xajar wondered if Ori had a secret lover, but it wasn’t Xajar’s business anyway. It should be enough for Xajar that Ori was his friend.

Gimli and Mori often rode back to visit them, and they rode together, chatting. That was also good, since Xajar could just listen to them talk, which was very pleasant.

One day, when the caravan had stopped for a break, and Ori had vanished, Gimli and Mori took Xajar with them to meet the other soldiers in their company. Xajar didn’t want to speak, but they asked questions, so he was forced to reply.

Haina, a dwarrowdam with a wispy blond beard and arms like tree trunks, was the most persistent. “How did you get that color on yourself? It’s not paint, is it?”

“No, it’s rose madder. My mother started dyeing me when I was little.”

“And the black designs?”

“It’s iron gall ink – it doesn’t wash off.”

“Can I see?”

Xajar looked at Gimli, who shrugged. Xajar pulled up his sleeves and the others oohed at the intricate patterns. The dwarrowdam ran her hand lightly over his skin, which started to tingle uncomfortably. He removed her hand and pulled his sleeves down. Haina gave him a knowing smile and muttered, “Not one for the ladies, are you?”

Xajar pulled back and excused himself, feeling rattled. He wasn’t used to strangers touching him, and there was something about the dwarrowdam’s touch that made him very uncomfortable. And her comment was even more disquieting. Whatever did she mean?

Gimli walked with him a little part of the way. “Xajar, don’t listen to her. She likes to play with virgins.”

Xajar shook his head. “What’s a virgin?”

Gimli laughed, “You are, clearly.”

“I still don’t know what that means.”

Gimli said uncertainly, “I’m pretty sure you should be asking someone else, but… all right. A virgin means someone who hasn’t had sex.”

“How...? How did she know?”

Gimli laughed again, “And apparently she was right.”  

Xajar was bewildered, “But what did she mean I’m not for the ladies?”

“She meant that you prefer males.”

“Males?”

“For sex, of course.” Gimli said seriously, “There’s nothing to worry about. Unlike Men, among dwarrows it’s all fine. Plenty of dwarrows prefer their own sex, like Ori, for example.”

“Ori prefers males?”

“Yes. I thought you knew.”

“No, I never thought about it.”

Gimli stood there, silent, as if about to say something. But he didn’t.

Xajar pulled at his budding blond moustache thoughtfully. “But why did she touch me? I mean, I didn’t think anyone would want to… you know.”

Gimli shrugged, “You’re not bad-looking. If you overlook the dye job, you have nice features, and many dwarrowdams prefer golden hair, so there’s that, too.”

Xajar tried to process that and couldn’t. He had been called ugly for decades, to the point where he never looked at himself in the mirror.

Gimli frowned and looked at Xajar searchingly. “I need to get back. Will you be ok?”

“I’ll be fine. See, my limp’s almost gone.”

“I’ll come over tomorrow if I can get out.”

Xajar nodded and walked through the forest, deep in thought. Was this really true? Did he prefer males? Ori’s pretty face rose in his mind but he shook his head. Ori was his friend. He couldn’t possibly complicate that relationship by attempting anything more.

Also, Ori was considered quite attractive by Dwarf standards. He had learnt that much, at any rate. Why would someone like that look at Xajar? But if Haina, evidently an experienced dwarrowdam, tried to make a move on him, perhaps Xajar was not so ugly after all? But how was that remotely possible? Xajar had a momentary thought - what if the dye were gone from his skin? How would he look? But that wasn’t even possible - the dye was fast and would last till he died.

Xajar sighed. This was not a problem to be solved in a day. He would sleep on it.

Was that Ori’s voice? Oh yes, there he was, walking with Lord Balin about 100 feet from the camp. They seemed to be arguing.

Ori seemed agitated. He was waving his arms about. Lord Balin said something inaudible. Ori stepped back, pushed Lord Balin hard, turned, and ran back to the camp.

Xajar’s breath hitched and he stopped. Whatever was the matter?

As Ori came closer, Xajar called out, “Ori!”

Ori ran towards him, put his arms around Xajar’s neck and burst into tears. Xajar froze. He placed his arms around Ori, not knowing what to do.

Lord Balin glared at them and stalked off.

“Ori? What is it?”

Ori snuggled closer and shook his head. They stood there for a while, together, then Xajar led Ori back to the camp. They skipped dinner, and went to bed early, where Ori cried and eventually fell asleep cradled on Xajar’s chest.

It didn’t matter. Whatever relationship they had, Xajar would protect Ori, help him, and love him. Ori was the centre of his existence, and he would do everything to keep him happy.

~~~~~~~~~

Ori was very quiet, that day and the next. Xajar didn’t try to talk to him, understanding intuitively that Ori needed time to himself. And while Ori didn’t talk, he clung to Xajar.

Xajar made sure that Ori had his meals, and slept on time. He held Ori when he wept, and allowed Ori to use his back as a writing desk as Ori wrote letters and tore them up and cried.

After two days, Ori finally sent a letter over to Lord Balin.

That evening, after dinner, Xajar sat with his back against a tree, his favourite position, and Ori lay with his head in Xajar’s lap, reading a book in the dim light.

Suddenly Ori sat up. Xajar looked up to see Lord Balin walking toward them. He came up to Ori and waved a scroll at him. “You don’t have to do this, Ori. Why can’t we go on as before? Nothing needs to change.”

Ori sat up and suddenly slid towards Xajar till their shoulders were pressed together.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it? That nothing will ever change?”

Lord Balin glanced at Xajar and said, “Don’t do this, Ori. Don’t bring innocent bystanders into our affairs.”

Ori shook his head, and put an arm around Xajar’s waist.

“I think you’d better leave, Lord Balin.” Ori said in a shaky voice.

Without thinking, Xajar slid his arm around Ori’s waist and pulled him closer.

Lord Balin groaned. “What do you want from me? You know I have responsibilities!”

“I don’t want a thing. I don’t want to work as your assistant anymore.”

Lord Balin looked at Xajar, shook his head ruefully, and left, his eyes bright.

Once he left, Ori turned, buried his face in Xajar’s shoulder and wept. Xajar held him gently.

In the distance, he heard wolves howling at the moon.


	6. Chapter 6 - Orc attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the middle of the night, the caravan is awoken as an Uruk horde appears, in hot pursuit of a Wizard and a Hobbit. Xajar's loyalties are tested as he's forced to defend Ori from an orc attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: general descriptions of battle. Not too graphic.

_A month later…_

“Adad I want to sleep!” Gimli muttered and tried to turn his back, but a smack on the shoulder effectively woke him up.

“It’s Mori, you idiot! Wake up!”

The sound of a warg’s howl rose in the distance.

Gimli sat up straight, now completely awake. He lifted his axe and tapped three times on a rock set hard within the soil. Every dwarrow in camp would sense that and awake, however deeply they slept. Silence was the first imperative. As a travelling group, they would not seek out a fight, but they would ready themselves. In response he could hear it all over camp – snores going silent, voices being hushed, dwarrows quietly rising from their beds. Thankfully there were no children in the camp. And with but a few exceptions, all were trained fighters.

The guards around him had come to attention and were quietly waiting for orders. Mori signalled to them to wait.

The warg howl was closer this time. But even closer, the patter of running feet through the forest. Gimli stiffened, “Someone’s coming.” he hissed. Gimli drew his axe, but held it pointed downward, waiting. There was no telling if this was friend or foe. It was quite likely someone running from the orcs.

The rustling grew louder, the underbrush fluttered and two figures ran into the clearing. One was immensely tall, and the other quite small.

Gimli had no idea who they were. They _clearly_ weren’t dwarrows. “What do you want?”

The tall Man replied. “I need sanctuary, young Durin. Not for me, but for my friend here. The orcs must not lay their hands on him.”

Gimli turned to look at the ‘friend’, a smallish, young looking creature with coppery curls, a turned up nose, and pointed ears.

Gimli stared at the small creature and asked, “Is that an elfling?” The creature glared back and his nose twitched angrily.

“I’m a Hobbit!” he snapped.

Gimli almost rocked back on his heels, startled, but steadied himself.

“I must wait for my leader’s consent.” Gimli said stoutly, looking up at the tall man, who looked very familiar for some reason.

“We have no time, Gimli son of Glóin! The Orcs will be upon us in minutes!”

Gimli growled, “How do you know my name?

Mori said quietly, “That’s Tharkûn, Gimli.”

Gimli stared at the tall man, taking in the grey robes, the weird hat, and the grey beard. He turned to one of the younger guards, “Reon! Take Tharkûn’s friend with you, take him to Ori. Tell Ori to hide him in a provision cart, and stay there. Go!”

The Hobbit didn’t seem to want to go. “I can fight!” he said, pulling a small sword awkwardly out of its scabbard and almost stumbling with the effort. The sword glowed faintly blue.

The Hobbit was brave, but clearly unused to fighting. “If the Orcs get to the inner circle, you may fight. Reon, please!”

And the spluttering Hobbit was whisked deeper into the camp.

Gimli turned back to Tharkûn, the wizard who had been responsible for Thorin Oakenshield’s return to Erebor, and said, “Gandalf! I beg your pardon. I did not recognise you.”

“I’m not surprised,” the grey man replied drily. “You were a toddler of 7 when I saw you last. You’ve grown, very much.”

Gimli was about to reply, but heavy steps sounded and Uncle Balin stepped up in full armour, awake and alert, a mace swinging from one hand. This was not the elegant statesman Gimli was familiar with. This was the warrior who had stood at Thorin Oakenshield’s side when he brought down the firedrake.

“Gandalf! Is this you bringing a plague of orcs upon us?”

“As you see, Balin. We are being chased by Gundabad orcs. I sense over 600 of them. I would not burden you, but my friend Bilbo Baggins needs sanctuary.”

“That’s the hobbit I saw going by, I suppose. I thought I was seeing a hallucination.”

Balin quickly turned to Gimli, “Sound the alert. We defend this spot.”

Gimli lifted the short horn at his shoulder and blew two short blasts and a long one. The camp sprung into life as the dwarrows started pulling their armour on and fanning out, the fighters ‘circling the wagons’, in this case the provision carts. Gimli knew the non-combatants would gather around the provision carts, which could be used as shields. He hoped Ori, Xajar, and the hobbit would stay there and stay safe.

“You and your friend have our protection,” Balin told Gandalf formally, the words forming a contract. Gandalf bowed, accepting the contract.

The howls of the wargs came closer.

Orcs thundered through the forest, yelling at each other. Suddenly the trees parted and three orcs pushed through. The stopped when they saw the dwarrows. Several other orcs emerged behind them.

The Orc in front, clearly a Gundabad orc, pushed his warg forward a few steps. “Ereborians! We have no quarrel with you. Give us the Halfling, and you can pass unharmed.”

Balin drawled sarcastically, “I think not. I’ve grown rather fond of the Halfling. I have a counter-offer. Turn tail and run, and we promise to let you go.”

The Orcs charged.

Gandalf lifted his staff and a white light spread outward lighting up the forest and dazzling the orcs. Before the light died, axes and daggers whizzed through the air and a dozen orcs fell dead. Balin lifted his mace and was among them in seconds, dealing out death with every blow that landed. Gimli paused for a second to admire the sure way Balin fought. His mace had claimed hundreds of lives in the last two centuries and Mahal willing, would claim dozens this day.

Gimli lifted his axe. He had orcs to kill.

~~~~~~~~~~

Xajar got up silently from the quilt he used as a bed. Beside him, Ori had woken as well, and Xajar whispered, “Wargs. Uruk.”

A soldier hurried toward them, a child in tow. A dwarfling? No, not a dwarfling, or even a child of Men, this was a completely different species.

The soldier said breathlessly, “Gimli said protect him. And stay behind the carts – stay safe!” And he ran back the way he had come.

The Hobbit was only a little shorter than Ori, but he was softer, and looked very young, being beardless.

Ori dipped his head, “Ori, at your service.”

The Hobbit bowed as well, “Bilbo Baggins, at yours. We need to get ready. The orc horde is almost upon us.”

“Xajar, quickly! Let’s get to the carts!”

The three of them ran to the huge provision carts, where some of the other, weaponless dwarrows had already gathered. Ori pointed out a little cage in the right of a cart, which held empty jars of pickles. Xajar helped him pull the jars out. Ori pushed Bilbo in, and pulled the little curtain shut. “Stay there! Xajar – stay with him. I’ll be back in a second.”

As Xajar watched, Ori ran to the other cart, which held pots and pans. He ran back with two heavy pans in his hands.

“Master Ori! I can fight! I have a sword!” The hobbit whispered.

“If it comes to that, you will have to. Stay there for now.”

All around them were the other non-combatants, including elderly statesmen, craftsmen and scribes.

Xajar checked his weapons. His swords and most of his daggers, alas, were in a pack next to the pony. But he had two daggers in his boots and one in his belt. He pulled them out and put them in his pockets.

He hoped very much he wouldn’t need them. He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to kill his own kind.

The sounds of clashes filled the air, from all around the camp. Ori put an arm through Xajar’s arm and drew him close. They stood together and waited, lost young dwarrows deriving comfort from each other’s presence.

~~~~~~~~

“Run! The orcs have broken through!”

A dwarf ran into the clearing, followed closely by an orc. He tripped and fell. Xajar froze, but Ori was before him, leaping forward and swinging a heavy pan. The orc fell heavily, his face smashed in. Ori reached an arm out to the dwarf and pulled him up. It was Thrak. He looked around shakily, then ran behind the provision cart and flopped down on the ground, panting.

Two more Orcs leaped into the clearing, swinging their swords at Ori, who was directly in their path. Before Xajar could even think, his daggers were flying through the air. The orcs dropped, each with a dagger through its brain.

Another orc ran in, and barely had time to look around before it died, a dagger through its throat.

Xajar’s “first kill” turned out to be three kills together - not Men, but Uruk. He felt sick to his heart as the Uruk struggled in their death throes. He had just killed three Uruk. He was worse than an exile. He was a traitor.

And he was being shaken roughly. Ori was in front of him, his hands on either side of Xajar’s face, forcing him to look into Ori’s eyes. “Focus. Xajar! I need you to focus. We have to fight!”

Xajar shook his head to clear it, then stepped forward to pick up the two heavy swords the orcs had dropped. There was no time to retrieve the daggers, now deeply embedded in Uruk flesh. He would just have to fight in closer quarters.

Six more orcs ran into the clearing. The swords came alive in Xajar’s hands as if by their own volition. He stopped thinking and let his body take over. He took down the first orc with a well-aimed thrust into the neck. The second orc came forward, sword swinging. Xajar parried the amateurishly waving sword with the sword in his right hand, while the other sank into the orc’s stomach from the left. The third orc approached a little more warily, trying to use his shield for protection. Xajar simply pushed the orc’s shield aside with one heavy sword and skewered him with the other.

Xajar was getting winded, being out of training, and his leg was beginning to give way under him. But he would not give up while there was breath left in him.

He did not fight alone, though. To his left, an Uruk fell as a couple of heavy pans smashed his face in. A second went down, stabbed in the back. The little hobbit had joined the battle!

Xajar felt a rush of adrenalin power him forward, and he took the last orc out, but before the orc fell, Xajar felt an agonising pain in his upper arm as the orc stabbed him. Xajar screamed and fell.

A horn played a harsh, long note from the front.

From all around the camp came the sounds of orcs beating a retreat.


	7. Chapter 7: Orc Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf to the rescue!

Xajar tried to open his eyes, but everything was a blur. He gasped as sharp pains suddenly lanced up his arm into his chest and tightened around his heart, leaving him breathless.

Someone shouted, “Master Ori! Please let Gandalf take a look at him.”

“Gandalf!”

A tall man with a grey beard and grey robes knelt next to them. The man - Gandalf - lifted Xajar’s arm, and tore the sleeve away roughly, showing an ugly gash dripping dark blood.

“It’s poisoned,” he said.

Gandalf dug into his pocket and took out a small muslin pouch. He handed over the pouch to Ori and said, “Press it over the wound. Quickly!”

Ori didn’t move, frozen, but the little hobbit’s small hands pressed the pouch to the wound.

Gandalf held his hand over the pouch and chanted words that Xajar did not understand.

“Hold it there for 5 minutes, once the poison bubbles out, wash it with boiled water, and get the wound stitched up.” Gandalf said.

Gandalf bent and ran his hand over Xajar’s head. “You will live, brave young Durin,” he murmured and walked away.

Xajar did not know what "Durin" meant, and the pain and breathlessness quickly drove the words from his mind.

“Ori! We need to get him to the healers. Can you carry him?”

Ori lifted him up as if he weighed nothing and carried him to into a little clearing. A makeshift table nearby was loaded with bandages, salves and powders. All around were lit fires and kettles and cauldrons boiling. The smells of potions lay heavy in the air, catching at Xajar’s throat. He coughed once and it turned into a coughing fit.

Ori sat down on the grass, so that Xajar was half-lying in his lap, his head on Ori’s shoulder. The Hobbit stood close, still pressing the pouch of herbs to Xajar’s wound with his two small hands. The pain increased. Sweat ran down Xajar’s face and soaked his clothes. It was getting hard to breathe.

“Ori! Are you all right?”

“Lord Balin!”

Lord Balin knelt beside them, and said, “He’s hurt.”

The Hobbit broke in. “He needs stitches, Lord Balin, once the herbs and Gandalf's magic pull out the poison…. Oh, look!”

The area around the wound was foaming, and greyish-red foam ran down into the grass. The Hobbit took out a handkerchief, wiped the area and said, “I think the poison has leeched out. Let me get the water.”

The pressure on his chest was gone and Xajar could breathe. Hot and cold flushes ran through him. He shuddered and tried to sit up. Ori wiped his face.

“Ori, please let me stitch him up. If he waits for a healer it could take a long time.”

Lord Balin and the Hobbit went away but returned with needles in boiling water. Xajar was given a potion to drink, and a wooden slat to bite down on as Lord Balin quickly stitched up the wound and bandaged it. The pain began to recede. Everything still seemed so surreal.

“How are you feeling?” Lord Balin asked Xajar.

“All right.” Xajar whispered.

“Any aches or pains other than your arm? Does your head hurt?”

Xajar shook his head.

Balin nodded in approval. “Good. Try to lie down and get some rest, and a little soup if you can manage it. I’ll come back in an hour.”

He turned to the hobbit, “Master Baggins, will you call me if I am needed?”

“I swear I won’t leave them.”

Lord Balin turned to Ori and asked, “Ori, are you all right?”

“I… I’m all right. Gimli? Is he all right?”

“I haven’t seen him, but I’m sure he’s fine.” Balin bent down and kissed Ori on the brow. Xajar found that strange. Were they friends again?

They stayed there for a while. Ori made Xajar swallow half a bowl of soup, then helped him lie down on the grass, a pillow under his head, his arm carefully folded over his stomach. The energetic little hobbit went over to the makeshift tables to help the healers. After a while, Ori followed him. Xajar closed his eyes and dozed off.

Gimli’s loud voice woke him from his half-dreaming state.

“Are you all right, Ori? Xajar? The Hobbit said you were hurt!”

Xajar sat up clumsily. “Just my arm. And you?” Ori put down the cauldron he was carrying and rushed over. “Gimli! Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. But…” Gimli’s eyes filled with tears and Ori reached out for him, terrified.

“Gimli – who?”

“It’s Dimor. He’s dead. He died protecting my father.”

Xajar only vaguely remembered Lord Gloin’s kind, gentle assistant, whom he had met a couple of times. But Ori had been close to him. Ori reached for Gimli and the two friends clung to each other in their grief. Xajar closed his eyes, unable to watch their pain. 

~~~~~~~~

They stayed in camp for two more days to give the wounded dwarrows some time to heal. The carts were emptied to carry the dead and the most grievously wounded, and the remaining luggage loaded on the horses. Which meant other than the wounded, everyone walked, and the rest of the journey went slowly and mostly in silence.

Xajar stayed on his horse – Ori wouldn’t hear of him walking. He was still easily winded, and Ori refused to let him walk the remaining 50 miles.

The next day, they reached Dale, where they all checked into inns for some rest before moving on to Erebor.

Gimli and Gloin moved into one room together; Gimli's father was still badly shaken by the loss of his assistant. Mori, Ori, Xajar and Bilbo moved into a larger room.

Bilbo would stay with them till Gandalf returned. Lord Balin had offered him sanctuary and was contractually bound to keep him safe. And there was no safer place in Middle-earth than Erebor.

They had settled down in the room when there came a sharp rap on the door. Ori opened the door. “Nori!”

Ori pulled a lanky dwarf into the room and yelled, “It’s my brother, everyone!”

Mori grinned. “Nori! I knew you’d be here soon enough. Don’t trust us to look after your brother, do you?”

Nori gave him a withering look. “It’s no thanks to you that he’s still alive.”

Ori grinned, “If you need to thank anyone, thank Xajar.”

Nori looked at Xajar appraisingly, came forward and made a quick bow. “Nori, son of Ri, at your service.” Nori had the most intricate arrangement of hair Xajar had ever seen - hair and beard were parted into sections that each pointed in a different direction, forming the design of a six-pointed star around a piquant, clever face. Something told Xajar this was a dwarf it was safer not to tangle with. But he was Ori’s brother, and as such, deserved respect.

Xajar bowed deeply, “Xajar, son of Adon, at yours.”

“Those are orc names. You’re no orc.”

Xajar sighed. “No, but I have no other identity. Ori thinks my mother may have found me.”

Nori looked mildly interested. He thought for a while and said, “I was a child, but I remember the years after the dragon was slain. The orcs were a menace. Half the caravans going to, or leaving Erebor, were attacked. Almost every family lost members in orc attacks. It was only after Thorin Oakenshield and Dain Ironfoot marched upon Gundabad and decimated their ranks that the orcs stopped.”

Mori said, “We did have several decades of peace. These attacks have only started in the last 5 years.”

Ori interjected, “Xajar wants to find his family. Do you think it’s possible, after all these years?”

Nori mulled over that for a bit, “It will be difficult. Some children are tattooed when they are young, but I doubt any tattoo would be visible. And spotting a family resemblance would be difficult, for the same reason. Does that dye come off?”

Xajar shook his head. “There’s nothing I know of that’ll get it off.”

“You have a hard road ahead of you.”

Ori frowned at Nori. “He will find his family someday. And if he doesn’t, he still has Gimli, Mori and me.”

Nori raised an eyebrow, “Oh he has you, does he? Wonders will never cease.”

Ori threw a cushion at him, “Careful or I’ll tell Dori!”

Nori got up. “I’m going back to Erebor. I’ll tell him of your beau myself.” He turned to Xajar, “Take care, young dwarf. Stay out of trouble.”

Xajar thought about entering Erebor the next day, and his feelings swung between apprehension and hope.


	8. Chapter 8 - Erebor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xajar, Ori and Bilbo finally reach Erebor and move into Dori's house. Can Xajar start a new life here or will his appearance put hurdles in his path?

Xajar had thought Minas Tirith stunning, but Erebor was magnificent. Two towering statues loomed on either side of the road leading up to the city, glowing emerald green in the sunshine. Farther to the left and the right, cascades of glittering water streamed down the mountain. Between the statues, the broad, beautifully paved road led up to an imposing gate set into the mountain.

The city was clearly built inside the mountain, and all that was visible was the smooth front in jade coloured stone, looming several metres above the ground. The facade seemed impossibly high, and the ramparts, balconies and windows looked tiny from ground level.

Dwarrows lined both sides of the road, yelling and hollering as they found family or friends within the 500-strong caravan rolling up the road.

The press of bodies was too much to allow them to ride, so Xajar got down from his pony and led her. Ori and Bilbo got down from Ori’s pony as well. Ori took Bilbo’s hand in his, afraid of losing the little hobbit in the crush.

Xajar kept his head down. He had gloves on, and had covered his face and head with a scarf, but his forehead and eyes were still visible, and he caught more than one startled look.

Closer to the gate the crush had thinned out a bit, and Xajar saw a handsome dwarrow with neatly groomed silver hair and beard pushing through the crowd and coming toward them.

“Oh!” Ori said, “There’s Dori!”

The dwarrow came closer, and hugged Ori tight. Xajar smiled to himself. This was evidently Ori’s beloved elder brother. The three brothers really didn’t look alike at all, but they were all very good-looking. Xajar grinned to himself - three months of travelling with dwarrows had certainly changed his ideas about beauty!

Dori took Ori’s head in his hands and scanned his face anxiously, “Are you all right? We heard about the attack. I was terrified!”

“I’m all right,” Ori said, putting his arms around Dori’s waist, and rubbing his chin against Dori’s shoulder. “There was one scary moment, but Xajar saved us! Dori, this is Xajar.” Ori took Xajar’s hand and pulled him forward.

Dori took one look at Xajar’s dye-covered figure and did a double take, but then stepped forward, put his arms around Xajar and hugged him warmly. “Thank you! Thank you for protecting my brother.”

Xajar shook his head, embarrassed. “It was nothing. Ori has done so much for me…”

Dori smiled, “He’s a good boy, and I’m glad he has helped you. But I am still in your debt for saving my baby brother.”

Ori poked his brother in the side and cut in impatiently, “And this is Bilbo!”

Xajar stepped aside to let Bilbo come forward. Dori looked down at him and bowed deeply. “Dori, son of Ri, at your service. Welcome to Erebor.”

The introductions over, they entered Erebor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The city was every bit as impressive from the inside as from the outside. It felt familiar and strange at the same time. The arching walkways were unlike anything he had ever seen. And yet something about them seemed familiar. Had he lived here before?

The hall was filled with chattering dwarrows, but the walls somehow dissipated the sounds so they didn’t overwhelm. The hall seemed to be filled with light, but Xajar couldn’t figure out where it came from.

They walked across a broad bridge of stone that curved downward to a large rectangular hall.

“Your city is magnificent, Master Dori. I’ve never seen anything so perfectly designed before.” Bilbo looked all around him with huge eyes.

Dori looked pleased, “Thank you, Master Baggins. The elders say it was even more beautiful before Smaug, but I doubt it. Dwarven engineering has come a long way since.”

Bilbo walked over to the low wall fringing the bridge, and looked over it. “Oh this is brilliant!  The city is built on multiple levels! That’s so clever!”

Xajar walked over as well for a peek. He felt a little uncomfortable looking into the depths. But the parapet wall abutting the bridge itself was worth looking at. The balustrade was carved in intricate designs and embedded with diamond-shaped mirrors, framed by tiny semi-precious stones.

“Ori!”

Ori came over and drew his arm through Xajar’s. “What is it?”

“Have you seen this? Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Oh yes, the entire hall is covered in those. It’s the mirrors that reflect the light into the hall, you know. There’s a science to how they are placed, which was believed lost when Erebor fell, but I have heard three old artisans had survived, and they taught the art to a younger generation.”

Ori rested his head on Xajar’s shoulder. “Do you like Erebor?”

Xajar put his arm around Ori and nodded. “It’s beautiful!”

“Look at the crowd down there. Is that the market?” Bilbo pointed downward and to the left.

“What day is it, Dori?”

“It’s 2nd Market Day. I’ll have to go back to the shop after I take you home or I’ll miss customers.”  

Bilbo turned around, “Oh no! Are we making you late?”

“Don’t worry Master Baggins. I keep a clothes shop – nobody shops for clothes before lunch.”

Xajar looked down into the lower hall, where he saw something like a commotion – three dwarrows ran through the crowd, chased by another lot of dwarrows.

“That’s strange.” Xajar said. Ori looked over the wall at where Xajar was pointing.

The dwarf in front was taller than most, with dark hair and very little beard. He knocked over a dwarf carrying two baskets, and bales of cloth spilled on the ground. The running dwarf almost turned to help the fallen dwarf, but then shook his head and kept running. He vaulted over a low wall and disappeared.

“Prince Kili and his friends.” Ori said contemptuously.

Xajar looked at him curiously. “Don’t you like him?”

“We were friends in school, but he’s changed. And not for the better. He counts Thrak among his friends.” Ori almost spat.

Ori picked up the bags again, and they set off. They passed through the main entry hall, then corridors and alleys, and, amazingly, over a road skirting the mountain, open to the sky, and then through a series of well-lit corridors, to reach Dori’s house.

The house was very neat, both inside and outside. On the outside it had a porch with a rocking chair. Inside were a large living room with a window, three bedrooms, each with a water closet attached, and a large bathroom with hot and cold running water. Xajar had never known such luxury in his life, not even in the Gondor inn.

They put their bags down, and had tea with cookies. Xajar got extra spoonfuls of sugar in his tea, courtesy of Ori.

Ori picked up Xajar’s bags. “We gave Bilbo the guest room. Do you mind sharing my room?”

Xajar shook his head, “No.”

They entered a large bedroom, and Ori put the bags down.

Xajar looked around. “There’s only one bed.”

“I know. But it’s big enough. Is it ok? Or do you want me to sleep on the settee?”

Xajar shook his head. “It’ll be like the journey. I don’t mind.”

“It’ll be nice – I’ve got used to your snores.”

Xajar poked him in the side. “I don’t snore!”

Ori giggled. “You have the cutest little snore. This breathy little sound and then a little snort. It’s the funniest thing!”

“Humph. You keep me around only to laugh at me.”

“Just one of my many reasons, believe me,” Ori said airily.

Xajar grinned.

Ori opened an empty cupboard. “This cupboard is yours. I know you don’t have a lot of stuff now, but we’ll buy you some new clothes.”

Xajar sat down on the settee, frowning. “I don’t have any money.”

“You don’t need to pay. Dori will take care of it.”

Xajar looked away, pressing his lips together. However nice Dori was, Xajar was already far too indebted to their family.

Ori sighed. “All right. How about giving me some of those daggers you carry around? They’ll fetch enough to keep you going till we can get you started in a forge.”

Xajar nodded eagerly. “Yes! That’s a great idea!”

“Dori has left for the shop. We can follow him in a bit, after I get Bilbo settled.”

“I’m glad Bilbo came with us. I thought Lord Balin would want to keep him near.”

“Yes, he did, but Bilbo isn’t fond of the heights.”

“The heights?”

“High society, royalty, politics, call it what you will. Lord Balin is very much a part of that life.” Ori said a little angrily. “We don’t fit into it.”

“Is that why you quarrelled?”

Ori turned away a little, fingers tapping on the bed’s frame. He took a deep breath, “How do you understand so much and so little at the same time?”

Xajar looked down, feeling a little hurt. “I don’t understand dwarrows very well, but I do know when you’re angry.”

Ori came over and sat down next to him, leaning his head against Xajar’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. It’s just that you’re so wise, I forget you’re a newcomer to our culture. And then I sound like an idiot.”

“Never that. You’re the kindest, wisest, most intelligent dwarf I have ever known.”

Ori turned and suddenly Xajar froze as he felt the light touch of Ori’s lips against his cheek.

Xajar’s heart beat like a trip-hammer. Was Ori interested in him?

It didn’t seem possible. Someone like Ori, beautiful, educated, intelligent, couldn’t be romantically interested in someone like him – an illiterate, uneducated, monstrous beast from Mordor.

No, Xajar mentally shook his head. Ori was being kind, as he always was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dori’s shop was a cool haven in the hubbub of the market. There were a few customers, but Dori’s assistants were looking after them, and Dori was free to spend a little time with his brother’s new friends before the rush started.

“Do you make these yourself?” Bilbo fingered a jewel-coloured fabric. The shop was a sumptuous riot of colours and textures. Xajar couldn’t decide which to look at. He didn’t dare touch any of them with his rough hands.  

“Most of them,” Dori answered. “I have three weavers and two apprentices. All excellent craftspeople. But some of the fabrics are imported. Why don’t you select something and I’ll get some clothes made for you. You didn’t have time to pack anything, did you?”

Bilbo shook his head, “No, it all happened so fast. One minute there were a dozen orcs in Hobbiton, being chased by Rangers. The second minute Gandalf rode up on a horse, pulled me up on it, and we rode out of there at top speed. My neighbour has my house keys, though. He’ll take care of Bag End, my smial, till I get back.”

“Smial?”

“Oh - smial basically means house.”

“That must have been terrifying,” Ori said softly, obviously remembering his own earlier tussle with Gnoth.

“Yes, but what followed later on in the journey was worse. We almost got captured by three trolls, got chased by an orc horde, lost the horse, and that’s when we saw the Ereborean caravan. I was never so glad to see anything in my life.”

Xajar asked, “But why were these orcs chasing you, Bilbo?”

Bilbo shook his head, “Gandalf made me promise not to tell. That wizard is a secretive one.”

Dori chuckled, “From what I hear, he’s fond of the great dramatic reveal.”

After a while, Dori turned to Ori, “I haven’t asked you why you left your job.”

Ori shrugged, “We had differences of opinion, Lord Balin and I.”

Dori tutted. “Well, it’s none of my concern, but you’ll be bored. Would you like to help me in the shop? I could do with an assistant, and it’ll help immensely if I can spend some time with the crafts workers.”

Ori grinned, “Of course! I’d be very happy to.”

“And you, Master Baggins? You don’t need to work at all, of course, but if there’s anything you’re interested in…”

Bilbo laughed, “There’s nothing I’m not interested in! I could just walk around Erebor for hours. It’s endlessly fascinating.”

Dori looked even more pleased.

Bilbo said eagerly, “But you know, if it’s possible, I would love to spend some time in the library, if it has books in Westron, and learn Dwarven cuisine, and even learn how to fight!” And he turned toward Xajar, “Perhaps you could teach me? You were amazing back there.”

Xajar felt his face heating up and was glad the dye hid his blush. “I’d love to. With wooden blades, of course. If I’m allowed.”

“Not our province, really, but Gimli should be able to help.”

“Where’s he, by the way?, Dori asked. “He usually comes here first thing.”

“He’s with his father. Lord Gloin’s assistant Dimor was killed in the raid, and Gimli is helping them get their paperwork done so they can get their dues.”

“Yes, I heard. Tragic. Young Dimor was a very responsible young dwarf. Gloin will feel his loss keenly.” Dori shook his head sadly.

They stayed silent for a while, Xajar trying to remember the assistant but failing.

“What about you, Xajar? Anything you’d like to do?”

Xajar put his arm up his sleeve, undid a hidden clasp, and took out a slim dagger, within its scabbard. He handed it over to Dori, hilt first.

Dori took it in his hands and looked at the beautifully etched scabbard first, then slid the dagger out. He took a tiny thread in one hand, and cut it with the dagger, exclaiming at its sharpness.

A voice spoke behind them, “You made this?”

Xajar turned at the unfamiliar voice and saw one of the customers looking at him curiously.

“Yes.”

“Including the scabbard and the hilt?” The customer took the dagger from Dori and studied the work on the handle. He was a middle-aged dwarf, richly dressed, with beads of gold and silver in his hair and beard.

Xajar nodded.

“But this is extraordinarily good. I’m surprised you managed to get a blade this sharp with this metal, to be honest.”

Xajar asked hopefully, “Are you a weaponsmith too?”

“I’ve tried my hand at it as a youngster. Enough to recognise quality, at least. This would sell for 10 gold coins in the market. The work deserves more, but the metal is of inferior quality.”

Xajar nodded. “We used scraps, mostly.”

“How much do you want for it? My younger son’s birthday is coming up, and this will be something unique.”

Xajar looked at Ori, but it was Dori who stepped forward. “For you, Master Biran, it’s free.”

Master Biran was taken aback for a moment, then smiled broadly. “Your young friend needs a forge, am I right?”

Dori returned the smile, his eyes twinkling. “He can pay his way. But we all know the power of the right word in the right ear, don’t we?”

Master Biran grinned, “It’s a deal. By the way, if you don’t mind my asking, where are you from? I’ve never seen dwarrows with this sort of coloring…” he indicated Xajar’s skin dye.

Dori waved a hand dismissively. “He was brought up in the south, but he’s going to apply for Ereborean citizenship.”

Master Biran nodded, “Good. I always say we need some new influences to keep our crafts alive. Welcome to Erebor.”

When Master Biran left, Bilbo turned to Xajar, “If you get a forge, you’ll let me watch you at work, won’t you?”

Xajar grinned down at the ebullient Hobbit, “Of course, Master Baggins. It would be an honor.”

Dori rubbed his hands together, “That was a stroke of luck! I’ll send in your application for the guild tomorrow. And you’ll need materials – 10-12 gold coins should do it. I’ll pay it for now – you can make it back by selling a few of these.”

Xajar bowed to Dori, “Thank you, Master Dori. I don’t know what I would have done without your support.”

“Call me Dori, lad. You’re my little brother’s saviour. It’s the least I could do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

_The next day_

The sound hit them even before they entered the huge hall – a cacophony of voices that reverberated from the high ceiling, a large crystal chandelier hanging from the middle of a gilt painted pattern. Even Erebor’s government offices reflected the riches of the kingdom.

Xajar whispered to Ori, “It’s so shiny.”

Ori looked surprised, “You think so? Oh you mean the ceiling and the chandelier? It’s always been there.”

Dori smiled, “There were paintings on the wall once – I remember our mother telling me. This used to be the Great Banquet Hall – when the dwarrows returned to Erebor, parties weren’t a priority. I wish the old custom would start again – imagine how many clothes the guests would need!”

They lined up in a queue and soon were sitting in front of a tired-looking dwarrowdam with thick plaits and an enormous bosom. She gave both Bilbo and Xajar a sharp look as they sat down.

She looked through their papers and nodded. “Which of you is Master Baggins?”

Bilbo raised his hand.

“Your name is in our records. You have been assigned permanent residentship of Erebor. Here’s your permit, and identity badge.” She passed over a thick scroll and a metal badge, hanging on a silk ribbon. “Keep the badge with you at all times. You haven’t been assigned a residence – but I see from your papers you’ll be living with Master Dori, here?”

Bilbo nodded, and drew the ribbon around his neck.

“And you must be Master Xajar?”

Xajar nodded. “You understand we can only give you a 6-month permit for now. The 6-month permit will be extended another 2 years if you have a clean record and can prove your usefulness. After 2 years, you can apply for citizenship. Here’s your badge and permit. Remember to stay out of trouble. Any criminal charges, and you won’t be given the chance to come back.”

Xajar nodded. He would be an idiot to risk having criminal charges placed on him. It wasn’t like he did anything out of the way, anyway.

He took the permit and the wooden badge with a feeling of relief, and pulled the ribbon over his head. He felt oddly exhilarated. He was safe for 6 months, at least.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, Xajar walked into his very own forge. It was a small, one-person forge, but it was compact and complete. The fire was lit by gases piped from the interior of the mountain, but there was also provision for using coal and wood. There were cleverly designed bellows with pedals. Tongs, hammers and tools he had never seen before hung from the walls.

Xajar couldn’t get the hang of the forge at first, but a friend of Dori, who also worked as a smith, helped Xajar learn. Once he figured out how the tools worked, Xajar found this forge ten times easier to use as the forges of Mordor.

Working at the forge was everything he thought it would be. He got to work with pure metals, much better than the scraps he was accustomed to in Mordor. Even the etching acids were better, making it easier to etch clean, beautiful motifs.

Xajar’s daggers started gaining a small following in the market. He used many classic Dwarven designs that Ori found for him in the library, but the best-sellers were his new creations, designs that evoked the spirit of Erebor, and reflected the happiness he had found in this beautiful city. And on each piece, he etched his personal symbol, a pair of crossed swords.

Life became extraordinarily simple. Xajar would leave for the forge everyday at the same time, after a full breakfast. Dori and Ori would leave for the shop, and Bilbo either to the library, or the shop, or to the community kitchen, where he helped the head chef Bombur and traded recipes.

For lunch, Xajar ate at the community kitchen with Ori and Bilbo, and Bilbo sometimes pointed out the Shire dishes that had started showing up in the menu. It didn’t really matter – all the food was new to Xajar. Sometimes he missed his mother’s cooking, but he had made peace in his mind with the fact that she would never come back. He still dreamed of her often, but the sharp poignancy of the loss was blunted. He had taken the mourning strip off as well.

After dinner, the four of them would sit and trade stories. Sometimes Nori would join them for dinner, and Xajar came to like the savvy, clever dwarf. Xajar felt as if he was part of a family, something he hadn’t felt for a very long time, perhaps ever.

Xajar had been a bit apprehensive about whether he had misunderstood Ori’s reason for their sleeping arrangements, but other than casual, friendly touches, Ori had shown no indication of interest in him. Perhaps that was a good thing, because he didn’t want a casual relationship with Ori. It was all or nothing. If he couldn’t have Ori for his own, then a long-lasting friendship was far better than a short-lived romance.

But for now, waking up to Ori snuggled into his side was good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the slow updates! There's a lot happening in my life, much of it not so good, and I can't promise weekly updates any more :(


	9. Chapter 9 - The Prince of Erebor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet the tragic figures of Kili, the Prince of Erebor, and his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a short angsty chapter, all.

Many surprising things can be found within Erebor, among them underground lakes fed by hot springs. The best of these is in Grór's cave, which is where Prince Kíli went whenever he was feeling low.

The tall, dark-haired young Prince floated on his back in the waters and paddled lazily across the lake. He reached the other end, towelled off, and sat on the edge, feet dangling in the water. The water was mildly warm, just the way he liked it.

“Master Kíli!”

Kíli turned. A short dwarrowdam waddled up the side of the lake, waving to him. “Master Kíli. You have to come with me!”

“What’s the matter, Kora?”

“It’s Her Highness. She’s having another of her spells.”

Kíli stiffened. He always avoided his mother, if he could, especially if she was in one of her “moods”. “Call my Uncle. Or Uncle Balin.” He got up and turned away from his old nurse.

“They’re in Dale. They won’t be back for a week.”

Kíli cursed. Let one of the adults handle it! But, under the disappointed, tragic eyes of the nurse, who had been a mother surrogate all his life, he couldn’t refuse. He dressed, and followed her.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The exterior of the Royal Residence was unchanged, but Kíli knew from experience that the interior, or at least his mother’s rooms, might well not be. She had a tendency to throw things around.

Kíli opened the door to her suite cautiously. It was silent. He went in.

Two guards were waiting inside the door. He jerked his head toward the door, and they left.

He crossed the silent living room and walked into his mother’s bedroom. The first thing he saw was a broken mirror, its fragments scattered around the floor. He walked around the bed carefully, so as not to step on the fragments. On the other side of the bed, his mother sat on the floor, her chin propped up on the window sill. She had cut her arm slightly, and a thin stream of blood trailed down her arm.

“Amad?”

She half-turned. “Kíli?”

“You’ve cut your arm.”

“Have I?” She looked down at the blood and dabbed at it with her sleeve.

“Don’t do that. I’ll bandage you up.”

He pulled on a bell rope next to the bed. Kora came in with a pair of dwarrowdams who quickly and efficiently removed the broken glass and replaced the carpet.

Kíli pulled up a chair and helped his mother sit up. He took out a small healing kit from the cupboard and started cleaning her wound with the ease of long practice.

“He’s here.” His mother’s voice sounded like it came from far away.

“Who, Amad?”

“Your brother. I can feel him. He’s in the mountain. Do you remember him, Kíli?” Princess Dís, sister of Thorin Oakenshield, looked out through the narrow, slotted window across the plain.

“No, Amad.”

“Oh yes, you were very young.”

“I wasn’t born, Amad.”

Kíli wrapped a bandage around the wound, tied it securely and snipped the ends off.

“But you’ll know him when you see him. Your brother has golden hair, he’s so beautiful. He looks like your father but he has my nose, the Durin nose.”

Kíli felt a hand touch his shoulder and turned to see Kora hold out a cup of tea. He grimaced, knowing it was probably laced with opium to help his mother sleep.

He handed the cup over to his mother. “Tea?”

“Oh yes, thank you. You’re such a thoughtful boy. Your brother will be so proud of you.”

She drank the tea, still looking out of the window and murmuring to herself. After she finished, Kíli held her hand until she slumped in her seat.

Kora and the other dwarrowdams picked her up and laid her down on the bed. Kíli covered her with a quilt, kissed her on the forehead and walked out.

He really, really needed to get drunk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The pub was mostly empty, which suited Kíli’s dark mood right now. But as soon as he walked in, someone called out his name.

He turned to see his best pal Runin sitting with Thrak and Nutor, dwarrows he knew from his warrior training days.

He wasn’t really in the mood, but perhaps company would take his mind off his troubles. He walked over to the table and sat down heavily next to Runin.

“Bad day?” Runin asked sympathetically.

Kíli nodded.

The pub server came up. “Beer, Your Highness?”

“No, whisky.”

The boy’s eyebrows rose, but he walked off.

“Really bad day, was it?” Runin asked.

Kíli shrugged. “Let’s not talk about me.” He turned to the other dwarrows. “Tell me about your trip. How was Gondor?” Kíli felt bitterness in his mouth even as he asked the question. His uncle Thorin had refused to allow him to go abroad until “he learnt to behave like a prince”. He loved his uncle, but he was such a grouch.

And so they talked, and Kíli had three whiskies while the others drank their beers and mead. He was kept nicely entertained. Thrak was a gossip. Not a gentle gossip – he was malicious, but Kíli quite enjoyed it in the mood he was in. Nutor was much funnier than Thrak, but not as cruel. Nutor gently mocked the Men’s practices, their clothes and cuisine, keeping Runin in splits and even making Kíli smile. Thrak sent up the high officials and army commanders instead.

But even Kíli had his boundaries, so when Thrak said, “And you know Gimli, Lord Gloin’s son…?” Kíli responded firmly, “My cousin.” his tone a warning.

“And that friend of his – Ori?”

“A childhood friend.”

“Ah yes. Well, I respect them both very much, but…”

Kíli knew Thrak was lying, but he wasn’t angry enough about it to shut him up. He had listened to far too much of Thrak’s gossip over the years.

“But?”

“They have the funniest idea of pets. They brought along an orc.”

Kíli shot up in his chair. “An orc??” The blood rushed to his head and he felt almost faint with rage. An orc? In Erebor? One of the monsters that had killed his father and brother, leaving his mother a broken wreck?

Thrak looked smug at having startled Kíli. “I heard on the grapevine that he was a dwarf, who had grown up in Mordor. Does that sound plausible? Why would the orcs let a dwarf live?”

“Did they do the test?”

“A little bird told me Lord Balin gave Ori a certificate, but we all know that Lord Balin would do anything for Ori.”

Kíli shrugged. He wasn’t interested in that kind of gossip. What Uncle Balin got up to with a dwarrow less than half his age was none of his business. He wanted to hear about the orc that had apparently invaded Erebor. He felt hot, and took another deep draught of the whisky.  

“What does he look like, this orc?”

It was Nutor who replied, “Shorter than you, with blonde hair just growing out. He’s painted all over – black designs on red. You can’t miss him.”

“Ugh – he sounds hideous.” Runin took a swig of his beer.

“He is - I’ve seen him. It’s scary. If he’s a spy, wouldn’t it be very easy to open the gates and let his friends in to attack us?” Thrak seemed to relish the idea.

“Or lead them in through a secret path? I bet there are secret paths into the mountain.” Runin always had a great imagination.

“Or murder the King!” Thrak clapped a hand to his mouth. “Oh! I’m sorry!”

Kíli, who had half-risen, sat down again. “It’s all right. But I’ve had too much to drink. I think I should go home.”

When Kíli got back home, he flopped down on the bed, turned into his pillow and cried himself to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10 - An orc in Erebor?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xajar meets Kili. It does not go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Sarcasm, shouting, Kíli being an ass, drinking

The indoor arena was a marvel of dwarven ingenuity. The domed ceiling was about 30 feet high, with slits studded with crystals, through which the sunlight scattered around the hall. The walls, instead of being solid, were cunningly designed fluted columns that enhanced the motion of the slightest wind, helping the air to circulate. The floor of the hall was covered in a thick layer of fine sand.

This was a much better arena to train in than the slippery bogs of Mordor, Xajar thought. But Xajar was only here to help Bilbo learn the basics of self-defence, not do any training himself. Gimli had booked part of the field for the exercise.

Xajar was dressed in new linen trousers and shirt, as was Bilbo. He felt happier than he had for a long time. He was among friends, had work that he liked, and this kind of mock fighting now suited him right down to the ground. He would rather not do any fighting ever, if he could manage to avoid it.

Gimli selected wooden swords for all of them. They started with teaching Bilbo how to keep his balance under attack.

Bilbo tried one of the basic positions, and swayed comically.

“Perhaps you need to move your feet a little closer together?” Xajar said helpfully.

Bilbo tried tentatively and swayed.

“Not that close!”

Bilbo tried to separate his huge feet and promptly fell over. Gimli burst out laughing and Xajar joined in, but he helped Bilbo up and dusted his trousers for him.

“Stop laughing you morons!” Bilbo managed to gasp through his own giggles.

They tried again, and this time Bilbo got it right. To test his stance, Xajar swung at him with a wooden sword, which Bilbo parried, staying on his feet.

They tried the basic stances again and again, Bilbo giggling through it all. At some point Xajar realised Gimli had walked away and was talking to someone on the other side of the field.

“Look what the caravan hauled in this time.” A voice spoke sneeringly and Xajar turned around.

It was the dwarf Xajar had seen for a fleeting moment the day he arrived at Erebor. The one Ori had called the prince. He was tall, dark-haired, with a young face and barely-there beard. He would have been handsome except for the sneering expression and the rage radiating from his eyes and his stance. With him was another dwarf, taller and broader.

Xajar stayed silent. He had grown up learning under the lash to be obedient to authority, and it was hard to break the habits of a lifetime.

Bilbo on the other hand, was made of different mettle. He said softly, “Problem, gentlefolk?”

“Yes. I have a problem with him. He’s an orc! Orcs like him killed thousands of us, including my father!”

“He’s not an orc. He’s a dwarf.”

“If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck…” the other dwarf snarled.

“Anyway, get lost. The training ground is not for things like you.” The Prince grunted.

Xajar stayed silent, but Bilbo replied, “Gimli booked the field for us. He’s over there. You can ask him if you like.”

Bilbo must have decided enough was enough for he turned and yelled, “Gimli!”

Gimli looked around, saw the confrontation and ran over immediately.

“Kíli! What’s going on?”

“You’re letting an orc train in our grounds now?”

Gimli turned as red as his hair, “He’s not an orc! What’s wrong with you?”

Prince Kíli yelled, “It looks like an orc. It even stinks like an orc – ugh. Don’t bring it here. This place is for dwarrows. Don’t bring this other creature either – whatever it is.”

Xajar cringed. Weapons were all right, but he had never developed an armour against hateful words.

Bilbo on the other hand, seemed to thrive on conflict. He drew himself to his full four feet of height and drawled, “I believe the word you’re groping for is Hobbit. And since you are so pitifully uninformed, let me tell you that I’m under the protection of the Royal Advisor. If he tells me I can’t use the grounds, I’ll leave.”

The prince looked furious, “And I am the heir to the throne! If I ask you to leave, you don’t question me, you leave!”

Bilbo stood his ground, “I would question the King himself if he were being unjust.”

“Do you think I care? If I see the two of you around here anymore, I’ll show you what it means to defy the prince!” Prince Kíli suddenly moved toward Bilbo, but Xajar instinctively stepped between them and the prince found himself trying to push Xajar instead, who was much harder to budge. He stepped back, looking frustrated.

Gimli stepped forward and pushed the prince, who swayed backward, but didn’t fall. “Get lost, Kíli. You’re being a total ass. I will bring them here whenever I want, and let me see you do anything about it! Uncle Thorin will not be pleased, you know.”

“Let’s see.” And with that Prince Kíli and his companion turned and walked away.

Bilbo threw his sword down, “Ugh. That just ruined my mood.”

Xajar was inclined to agree.

Gimli growled, “Let’s go down to the pub instead. Xajar hasn’t ever had liquor, a little birdie told me.”

The “little birdie” nodded enthusiastically. “Good idea. Let’s see if Erebor and Mordor can hold their own against the Shire.”

Xajar wasn’t sure that was a good idea, but he agreed.

~~~~~~~~~

Xajar had alcohol only a couple of times, as he had found the slave-made liquors of Mordor far too vile for his taste. Here at the pub though, they had smooth ales and beer and cider with a soft texture and pleasant fragrance. Xajar tried a few of them and was soon pleasantly buzzed.

Bilbo loved gossip when he was drunk. “Gimli.”

“Yes.” Gimli looked up from studying his knees.

“What’s up with that prince of yours?”

Gimli shook his head, “I don’t know. He’s all right most of the time. Sometimes he just… I don’t know. He needs a kick in the breeches where it hurts. Uncle Thorin is too busy to check him, and Aunt Dís… I haven’t seen her in ages. She hardly ever leaves her chambers. She never got over her husband’s death, I believe.”

“And Aunt Dís is…”

“Uncle Thorin’s sister.”

“Why has your uncle never married?”

“Never found the right dwarf, I guess.”

Bilbo burped, holding a hand in front of his face politely. “You mean dwarrowdam. See? I’m learning.”

“No, I mean dwarf. He’s never been interested in females, our Uncle Thorin.”

“Oh.”

Xajar didn’t miss the confusion in Bilbo’s face. He asked Gimli, “So it’s fine here? Marriages between males?”

“Only a third of us are female. How else could everyone find mates?”

Bilbo nodded vigorously. “Very wise of you. Very wise. Now in the Shire…” but his voice tapered off sadly.  

They drank for a while longer, and Xajar found a strong ale that he liked so well he finished off three tankards. This was nice, drinking with friends, even if everyone was beginning to get more than a bit drunk.

Xajar was sinking into a pleasant haze, but there was an important question he needed to ask. Framing it carefully, he asked, “So, if I like a dwarf, how do I tell him?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Gimli slurred, “Ori probably knows.”

But Xajar was already slumped over the table and snoring.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ori went to the door and peeked out for the umpteenth time. Xajar and Bilbo had Disappeared, with Gimli, and it was close to midnight.

Then he heard them coming down the street, singing. At least Gimli and Bilbo were singing a duet, definitely bawdy from the few words Ori could make out. Xajar was just walking, swaying a bit, glassy eyed.

Ori cursed them roundly and ran out. He helped them all in, deposited Gimli on the divan, put Bilbo in his bed, and half-pulled Xajar into his own room. Ori ran around from one drunken friend to the other, removing their boots, and propping them up with pillows to avoid any accidents.

Xajar was murmuring to himself when Ori came in, having changed into his sleep wear. Ori slid into the bed, making a face at the smell of ale.

Then Xajar very clearly said, “Ori.”

“Xajar?”

“Ori likes me?”

He was obviously still out of it. Ori shook his head and said, “Yes Ori likes you. Now go to sleep.”

Xajar wriggled a bit and grinned goofily. “I like Ori. Ori is pretty.”

Ori rolled his eyes, but then his face broke into a soft smile.

There were no more interruptions, and Ori was finally able to go to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Xajar woke up feeling sick. But then he threw up in the water closet and felt much better. He drank half the jug of water placed in the room, and came out, feeling only half-dead.

Ori was sitting in the living room, reading a book. When Xajar came in, Ori raised an eyebrow at him. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a mumakil walked over me, thank you.”

“You’re better than Bilbo. He came in, had breakfast and went back to sleep. Do you want breakfast?”

Xajar shook his head.

“You were babbling last night.” Ori looked at him, his eyes twinkling.

“Sorry.”

“You said I was pretty.”

Xajar looked up at that and was relieved to see the quirk of Ori’s lips.

“Everyone says you’re pretty,” Xajar grinned, “But not as pretty as your brother!”

Ori grimaced, and turned a page. “Ugh, it’s awful. He used to have a line of suitors a mile long till he announced he was craft-wed.”

“What’s that?”

“That means he’s not interested in romance.”

“And you?”

Ori raised his eyebrows as far as they could go. “Are you joking?”

Xajar gave a weak smile. He hadn’t been joking. He suspected Ori had had a thing going on with Lord Balin, but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t like not knowing.


	11. Chapter 11 - Fear and hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xajar and Kili's second meeting doesn't go well either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Kili still being an ass ;) Trigger warnings: Physical tussle.

# Chapter 11 - Fear and hate

Xajar floated in the cool, clean waters of a pool inside a cavern, feeling content. Up against the high ceiling, lamps glowed like distant stars, casting a soft light across the cave. He was alone, for now. Bilbo had wandered off to inspect some mushrooms he thought he had seen over at the other side of the pool. Gimli was away on patrol. Ori was in the library – a new lot of books had come over from Gondor and nothing could keep him away.

Xajar got out of the pool and towelled off. His skin looked much the same as it always had, a deep rose-red, with black motifs painted all over it. He half-regretted it now, but of course the dye job had saved him throughout his life in Mordor. Understanding that didn’t solve anything, though, he thought sadly. It seemed he never would really belong anywhere.

He towelled his hair, which was now fairly long, falling to below his collarbones, and patted his beard and moustache dry. He was starting to get used to the hair.

“Monster!”

Xajar quickly turned and froze.

The prince and his friend stood there.

“Beast from Mordor! How dare you pollute our lake with that monstrous body of yours?” the prince hissed.

“It’s just dye. It doesn’t come off.” Xajar said flatly.

“You can’t defy the prince and escape, you beast!” said the prince’s companion. So it wasn’t just the prince who had a taste for pseudo dramatics.

Xajar dropped the towel as the taller dwarf came toward him menacingly. Now this was more familiar territory. He was no good at duelling with words, but fighting he understood. The other dwarf was taller than him and bigger, but very obviously untrained. Xajar was older, his body harder, and he had trained for battle almost incessantly for almost five decades. There was no doubt that he would win the fight - the only question was whether he could do it without hurting either of them.

The dwarf charged. Xajar neatly sidestepped and tripped him, sending him into the lake. When he turned, there was a fist coming at his face. He grabbed the fist in his hand, held the Prince’s wrist and twisted his arm behind him, ignoring the sharp pain as the Prince’s bracelet cut into his skin.

“I’ll let go if you promise to go away.”

The prince struggled, growling.

“Or I could break your arm.”

The prince stopped struggling. “All right” he gritted out.

Xajar let him go.

The prince helped his companion up and then turned to Xajar, “You’ll pay for this, orc!”

And the Prince angrily strode out, followed by his dripping and shivering companion.

Xajar sat down on a rock, his head in his hands.

“Xajar! What’s the matter? I heard sounds…”

Bilbo looked distraught. “Did something happen? Oh! Your hand’s bleeding!”

Xajar looked down. His palm was slightly scratched where it had pressed into the prince’s bracelet.

“It was the prince, wasn’t it? I saw them leaving.”

Xajar shrugged, feeling sick at heart. His victory over the dwarrows meant very little to him. But his hand stung, unpleasantly reminding him of the violence he had been forced to engage in, that too against a pair of unfledged boys with hardly any fighting skills.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Xajar came into the house, and sat down on the settee. He felt exhausted, but very happy as he had three new daggers to sell.

He opened his bag and spread the daggers out, with their scabbards, on the coffee table. Dori came out, and sat down next to him.

“Oh! These are beautiful!”

Dori picked up one of the daggers, where Xajar had, for the first time used non-geometrical motifs, this time butterflies and flowers.

“We need to get them enamelled.” Xajar said tentatively.

“You’re right. I’ll get that done. These will sell for a pretty penny!”

“Thank you, Master Dori.”

Dori didn’t reply and Xajar felt waves of anxiety coming off him.

“Is anything the matter?”

Dori took a scroll out of his pocket and handed it to him. “Here.”

“I… I can’t read.”

“Sorry, I forgot. It’s a notice. The council of ministers have called you for a hearing on Tuesday, to answer a charge placed by Prince Kili.”

Xajar closed his eyes. This would not be good.

 


	12. Chapter 12 - Exiled, again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the council, Xajar finds himself unable to reply to Kili's false charges. Will he be exiled from Erebor?

“It’s time.” Ori took Xajar’s hand and they walked through the open door into the private council meeting.

Xajar held Ori’s hand tightly as he looked around. There was a large table in the middle of the room, around which were seated about 30 dwarrows and dwarrowdams, all in court dress. Xajar felt under-dressed among them. On the other side of the council was a small table, from which the Prince, with his friend, glared at Xajar.

Ori and Xajar, accompanied by Dori, after the introductions, were led to a small table on the other side where they sat down.

Xajar saw Lord Balin sitting at the head of the table, and felt awkward. He had no idea what charge the prince had brought, and his experiences in Mordor hadn’t led him to expect any justice.

Lord Balin spoke, “Xajar, son of Adon, you have been brought here to answer the charge that you, unprovoked, attacked and injured Prince Kíli and his companion. What say you?”

Xajar felt the blood rush to his head. He couldn’t imagine anyone bringing such a charge against him, such an obvious, vicious lie. He had neither attacked the boys, nor injured them. He glanced over at the other table, but Prince Kíli looked down and refused to meet his eye.

Despair rushed over him. There was no hope left. If not this charge, the Prince, or someone else, would find some trumped-up charge to lay against him. He would never be accepted at Erebor. He slumped down in his seat.

“What say you, Xajar, son of Adon? The Prince has not pressed assault charges, which could result in a prison sentence, but merely asked for you to be expelled from Erebor. As neither of the plaintiffs shows any signs of injury, we are also inclined to be lenient. You have a 6-month permit of stay, but if you do not defend yourself, you will have to leave at the end of the permit’s duration.”

Ori nudged him, but Xajar refused to speak. “You have to tell them! Tell them they’re lying!” Ori hissed.

Xajar lifted his head and saw Lord Balin looking at him with frustration. But he couldn’t speak. His hands were shaking.

“Since you refuse to speak, I will have to decree that at the end of next month, when your permit expires, you will leave Erebor. For the last time, can you provide us a reason why we should let you stay?” Lord Balin spoke softly, his tone concerned and sympathetic.

Xajar felt Ori move next to him and get up, “I beg your pardon, Lord Balin. But there is a reason for him to stay. Xajar is unused to councils – may I speak on his behalf?”

“You may.”

Ori took Xajar’s hand in his and said, “We are betrothed, and will marry soon.”

Xajar looked up at Ori, but Ori wasn’t looking at him. He was staring defiantly at Lord Balin.

The whole room burst into a hubbub of sound.

Xajar pulled at Ori’s hand and made him sit down. “What are you doing?”

“Just follow my lead. You’re not leaving Erebor, Xajar, whatever that brute wants.”

The sound of a gavel broke through the hubbub.

Lord Balin spoke, “Is this true, Ori son of Ri?”

Lord Balin’s expression hadn’t changed much, but Xajar sensed he was in shock.

Ori nodded. Xajar felt new life flowing into him. Surely Ori cared for him deeply, or he would not do this. Uruk did not marry, but marriage was serious business among the dwarrows, that much he knew. He lifted Ori’s hand and kissed the soft palm, gratitude, warmth and love rushing through him and making him dizzy.

Lord Balin turned to Dori, “What say you, Dori, son of Ri? You are the head of the Ri family, as well as a highly respected senior member of the guilds, and we have no reason to doubt your word. Is this true, or a falsehood to keep this dwarf here in Erebor?”

Dori got up. He looked down at Xajar and Ori. “They haven’t been formally courting, but to be honest I have been waiting for them to announce something of the sort. They have been sharing a room for five months…”

Lord Balin looked down and his shoulders slumped slightly.

“…and are clearly very fond of each other. I would have wished for a longer courtship, but under the circumstances…” Dori took a deep breath, “As the head of the house, I give my consent to the match. I like and respect Xajar. He is responsible, hard-working, polite and kind. He has also saved my brother’s life twice. They obviously care deeply for each other. I have no objections to the marriage.”

And Dori sat back down. Xajar felt Dori’s hand land on his shoulder and press down firmly. Tears of gratitude welled up in his eyes and he brushed them away.

The gavel came down again.

“Under the circumstances, I am dismissing Prince Kíli’s request for Xajar’s expulsion, without prejudice to either party. Once the marriage is over, as per the usual rules, Xajar can apply for and obtain his citizenship.”

Ori put an arm around Xajar and he got up, feeling dazed. They left the council room.

Out in the corridor, Xajar felt a poke in the back and turned around.

“What happened?” Bilbo asked.

Ori told him. Bilbo excitedly pulled him into a hug. “Congratulations! I know you’ll be very happy together! And Gimli just lost a bet!” He giggled gleefully.

Xajar almost spoke but he felt an arm around him, and Ori was pulling him back. “Come on! We have loads to do! Let’s go to the shop.”

~~~~~~~~~~

At the shop, which had been closed for the day, they made their plans. Or rather, Dori made the plans while Ori interjected once in a while, Bilbo interjected a lot, and Xajar sat silent. He wasn’t in the least interested in the wedding plans. He was dying to get Ori alone and ask him, did Ori love him?

Sometimes it seemed like it, like now, with Ori holding on tightly to Xajar’s hand and not letting go. But Ori had never said anything before. They had never even kissed each other on the lips.

Xajar lifted Ori’s hand again to his lips and kissed it. Ori turned. “Everything will be fine, I promise,” he whispered in Xajar’s ear.

Xajar looked up to find Dori and Bilbo looking at them in besotted fashion and blushed. He couldn’t believe his luck. Having Ori as a friend was more than he deserved, but having Ori for a husband would be heaven. Being able to touch Ori, being able to kiss him, being able to… at which point Xajar’s imagination broke down and he felt blood rush to his face. Luckily no one could see him blush under the dye.

“All right, so we are all agreed on the third Skyday of next month. We’ll have the handfasting in the smaller temple of Mahal, the exchange of courting gifts in the hall next to it, and the feast in the southern wedding hall.

“Xajar, do you agree?”

Xajar felt a sudden doubt, “But all this will cost a lot! I don’t have…”

Ori put his arm around Xajar’s shoulders, “Don’t worry. My father was one of those who followed King Thorin when he took the mountain back. All 3,000 of that army got a share of the treasure. Dori put my father’s share away for just such occasions.”

“But I can’t let you pay…”

“Of course you can. What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine.”

Xajar looked around bewildered, but Dori was smiling happily and Bilbo was going “Awwwww”, so they were no help.

Xajar gave up and decided to just go with the flow, for now.  


	13. Chapter 13 - Where dreams die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Xajar finds out the truth about Ori's feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys! This one's going to be pure angst. :( 
> 
> Trigger warnings - angry conversations between Ori, Balin and Xajar. Xajar loses it.

By the time they got home, it was dark. Xajar went inside to wash up. He badly needed to talk to Ori alone. If Ori loved him, everything was fine. If he didn’t, Xajar couldn’t let Ori sacrifice himself!

When he came out, he couldn’t find Ori.

But Bilbo was seated in the rocking chair on the porch, gently rocking back and forth and murmuring to himself as he read a book by the light of a suspended gas lamp.

“Bilbo? Have you seen Ori?”

“I think he went for a walk. I saw him go down that alley.”

Xajar pulled on his boots and went down the alley as well, his heart fluttering in his chest in the expectation of getting Ori alone. Perhaps he would finally get that kiss he was thirsting for. He could almost taste it.

Xajar’s boots made nary a sound on the mud-covered ground of the disused alley. The alley ended in a dead end, at the entrance to a blocked off corridor. There were dead-ends like that all over Erebor still, indications of the destruction Smaug had wrought in the 90-odd years he had held Erebor. In the dim light, Xajar saw Ori sitting on a bench at the end of the alley, facing the other way.

Xajar almost called out, but he saw another figure sitting on the other side of the bench, behind Ori. He sighed in disappointment. He wouldn’t get Ori alone now. Perhaps he should just go back?

But as he grew closer he realised the other dwarf was Lord Balin. Xajar frowned. Lord Balin wasn’t in his good books. He had hurt Ori in some way that Xajar did not understand, and Xajar himself by allowing the prince to bring trumped up charges against him, which he must have known were false.

The other two did not see him, but he could now hear them clearly.

“You can’t tell me you love him.”

“How does that matter? He loves me!”

“But is that enough, Ori? Shouldn’t you wait and marry someone you love?”

“Well, you made that impossible, didn’t you?”

Xajar’s heart thudded in his chest. Everything fell into place. Not only did Ori not love him, he was in love with Lord Balin. Or had been. Xajar had known it all along, he just hadn’t wanted to see it.

“I can’t, you know that. I am the Royal Advisor. My spouse will be under scrutiny all the time.”

“And I was not good enough, was that it?”

Xajar’s fingers curled into a fist.

“You know that’s not true. But…”

“That’s the difference between you and Xajar. I’m safe with him. He would never hurt my feelings. Even if he were the King himself, or the Crown Prince, he wouldn’t have to think twice about marrying me, because he loves me. You never loved me, not once. I was convenient, that’s all. In any case - you and me? We are finished.”

Ori stood up, turned and saw him. “Xajar!”

Xajar felt rage building up in him, at Ori, at Lord Balin, at Erebor itself.

“You lied to me. You never loved me. You’ve loved him all along.” He blurted out through the tears that were flowing unchecked now.

Ori shook his head, pale faced, and reached out to Xajar, “Don’t… don’t… I didn’t lie to you, Xajar, not once. I thought you knew... about Lord Balin. I never meant to deceive you.”

Xajar’s voice shook, “What was all that about, then? Every time you looked at me, or touched me – did it mean nothing to you?

“Of course it meant something – it meant everything. I do love you, Xajar, even if it’s not…”

“Even if it’s not romantic love? But you still want to marry me?”

Xajar felt defeated. Every time he had a glimpse of a better life, it was taken roughly from him. He hadn’t dreamt that of all people Ori would hurt him, but it had happened, and Xajar had either to live with it, or…

In any case marriage was out of the question.

Why did this surprise him? Even the Uruk of Mordor had rejected him. It wasn’t possible for any dwarf to consider him as a mate. And in any case, he suddenly realised with despair, there would never be anyone else for him, male or female.

Only Ori.

And Ori was forever beyond his reach.

Xajar turned and quickly walked away, wanting to put some distance between him and the other two. He faintly heard Ori call out his name, but he didn’t look back.  

He walked for hours in the dim light, through empty alleyways and halls, hardly knowing what he did. Somewhere he found a little balcony open to the sky, and watched the stars on the Southern horizon for a while, imagining himself back in Mordor, back in his mother’s arms. He fell asleep there and dreamed of fellbeasts and the fiery eye.


	14. Chapter 14 - Another kind of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori brings Xajar home. Ori and Xajar have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: People yelling, suicide ideation

Xajar woke up and looked around groggily, disoriented. Dawn was breaking over the distant hills to the East, painting everything a mellow orange. 

Then his memory of of the previous day returned and he sat up. He leaned against the balcony and looked down. He was sorely tempted. A fall from this height would kill the hardiest dwarf. 

“Go home.” 

Xajar spun around. Nori stood there, twirling a deadly looking dagger in one hand. 

“What?” 

“Let me put it this way. My little brother is crying his eyes out at home, and that is not allowed. So you can either go home of your own volition or I can carry you there. Which is it to be?” 

“Or you can go to hell.” Xajar sat down heavily on the floor of the balcony. Sudden tears came into his eyes and he dashed them away. 

There was silence, then Nori sank down beside him. “All right. What happened?”

Xajar was reluctant to speak, but Nori got the whole story out of him, word by painful word. 

After listening to it all, Nori said thoughtfully, “I don’t believe a word of it.” 

“Are you calling me a liar?” 

“No, I’m sure you’re telling the truth. But I have seen you both together. If Ori isn’t in love with you, he’s a much finer actor than I thought.” 

“Does it matter?”  Xajar asked bitterly. “It’s the way I look, isn’t it? I’m too ugly for Ori to be in love with. I’m too ugly for anyone.” 

Nori said quietly, “I won’t lie to you, you look so different that your looks could be a factor. But in my experience, if you love someone, you start finding them attractive after a while.” 

A tendril of hope unwound itself in Xajar’s heart. “So, you’re saying…” 

“My brother is very smart, very clever. And yet when you were threatened with exile, the only idea he could think of was to marry you?”

Xajar stared. He had never thought of that. But… “What else could he have done?” 

“A thousand things. He could have asked for a second hearing. He could have challenged Prince Kíli to bring witnesses. He could have called for a healer’s report. He could have sent an appeal to the King. Erebor is not an unjust place, you know. And yet when he wants to keep you here, he thinks of marriage. I find that very interesting.”

The hope in Xajar’s heart strengthened. “So what do you think I should do?” 

“Give it time. Don’t give up. Unless,” Nori said with mock menace, “you think my brother is not worth the effort?” 

Xajar was surprised into a laugh. “Nice try.” His eyes softened, “Of course he is worth it.”  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he returned home, Ori was pacing outside.

“Xajar!” and suddenly Ori was holding him close, sobbing. “I thought I had lost you!”

Even if Xajar hadn’t already cooled down, this reception would have killed off any anger. He kissed Ori’s cheek and hugged him back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you either. I do love you, you know. Not the same way I loved… him… but you’re my family now. I can’t lose you!”

Xajar sighed. “You will find someone to love someday, and I don’t want to be in the way.”

Ori made Xajar sit down on the step. “Can’t we just go on as before? We already live together and even sleep in the same bed. Can’t we?”

“I have to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

“Why? Why are you marrying me?”

“Because I can’t let you go. You’re a part of my life now. My little room never felt like home till you came. I am afraid - afraid of letting you go.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I loved Balin, but I always knew it wouldn’t work - I was prepared to live without him. You – I’m no longer sure I can live without you.”

Xajar didn’t say anything. His mind was trying to process this and failing.

Ori continued, “When I finish work, I can’t wait to get home and hear your voice. At night I sleep better because you’re sleeping next to me. When I look into the future, I’m not afraid, because I know you’ll be there. I don’t want a physical relationship, it’s true, especially not so soon after… but I love you in every other way.”

Xajar didn’t reply.

“Say something. Tell me you feel the same.”

“I’m frightened, Ori.”

“Frightened?”

“Because I care too much. Because I never want to hurt you. And because the world can be so cruel when you least expect it.”

Ori’s arms went around him.

“But we are together now. And we’ll face everything together. We are dwarrows of Erebor. We endure.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, with renewed enthusiasm, Xajar had his breakfast, and got ready for work. Work at the forge would help him think.  

He reached the gate to the forge and presented his coin of access. The official on duty shook his head, “I’m sorry. The guild has barred your entry to the forge. The prince made a complaint.”

Xajar slumped where he stood. Life was knocking over his cards as fast as he could set them up.

He wandered for a bit, then decided to go to Dori’s shop. Ori saw him as he walked up, and came forward quickly.

“What happened?”

“The guild has barred me from the forge.”

“Why?”

“The Prince made a complaint.”

“That dirty pile of fewmets! Don’t worry about it. We’ll sort it out. We’ll appeal to the guild. And if we need to, we’ll move to Dale. They would adore having a weaponsmith as skilled as you.”

Xajar shook his head. He didn’t think Dale would accept him any more than Erebor had, and he did not like the idea of disrupting Ori’s life.

But for now, he would make himself useful. He started stacking bales.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were voices coming from the living room. Xajar got up, pulled on his new satin dressing gown and stepped out. He stopped when he saw Prince Kíli in the living room, arguing with Ori. Bilbo was sitting on the settee opposite, face like a storm cloud.

The prince saw him, stopped talking, and looked away. Ori turned around and saw Xajar.

Ori turned back to the Prince. “You had better leave now.”

“But Ori, we were friends once. I had to try to change your mind. You can’t marry an…”

Xajar didn’t even feel any anger. The prince would never change. Also he couldn’t really harm Xajar anymore. There was nothing left to take away.

“A what, Kíli? A decent, warm, loving dwarf? Because you wouldn’t know what those words mean, would you?”

“He’s not…”

“If you say that again, in Mahal’s name I’ll kick you all the way to Dale. Tell me something – has he ever done you any harm? Why do you hate him so much? Does it feel good – having all that power and using it to harm powerless innocents who have absolutely nothing? What are you – Smaug reborn?”

Bilbo got up, came over to Xajar and put an arm around him in support. Xajar pressed his cheek to the top of Bilbo’s curly head, thankful for his friends.

“My father was killed by orcs.”

“So was his!” Ori burst into tears.

Bilbo said cuttingly, “You really don’t think, do you, your highness? How did Xajar end up in the hands of orcs? He wasn’t born to them. He was stolen. From where? Not from Erebor, which is a fortress. Obviously from a raid on a traveling caravan. Now tell me, how did your father die?”

Prince Kíli said nothing, but looked frustrated. “He was on his way back from Dale to Erebor, with my brother. Orcs killed them both.”

“Bravo, your highness. Lovely way of taking revenge, isn’t it? By attacking an orphan whose father probably died in the exact same way?”

The Prince shook his head angrily and walked out.

Xajar took Ori in his arms immediately, as Bilbo left, probably to make tea.

Ori sobbed, “I can’t take this anymore. I can’t stand them hurting you. You must promise – promise you’ll stay with me.”

Xajar brushed his own tears away but couldn’t speak. He couldn’t make that promise. 


	15. Chapter 15 - A treacherous attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Kili tries to take his anger to its logical conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: An attack, but no one’s seriously hurt.

Prince Kíli sat on the parapet wall, thinking. Runin threw a pebble at him.

“Hey!”

“Pebble for your thoughts?”

The Prince shrugged. “I’m worried.”

“Really? That’s a first.”

Kíli sighed. “It’s Ori. I hate the thought of him marrying that – that creature!”

“Why? Keen on him, are you?”

“Ori? Mahal no! He’s an old friend, nothing more. But we got along well as dwarflings, you know. He always helped me with my Khuzdul and etiquette lessons.”

Runin snorted. “Not that they did you any good.”

“You’re one to talk! Who dropped the punch bowl on Uncle Dwalin’s head at the Evensong party?”

Runin chuckled at the memory. “It was all worth it.” He sighed, “I’ve never seen Dwalin that color before – not red, exactly…”

Kíli interrupted, “Yes, but… Ori, you know.”

“Still worried about him? It’s not your bloody business, is it? He is of age, and has two older brothers to look after him. Dori seems to like the orc, by the way.”

“How can he? I don’t understand!” Kíli pulled at his hair. “I mean, you saw him, didn’t you? How can you trust anyone who is so dyed you can’t even see his face? And he grew up in Mordor! He’s trained to kill dwarrows! And Men! And Elves! Not that we care about Elves.” Kíli reddened, remembering having a tiny crush on an attractive elven captain in the Mirkwood king’s entourage several months ago. 

Luckily Runin didn’t notice. “The whole thing is very suspicious. Why is he here? I bet he’s a spy.”

“And once he marries Ori he will be a permanent citizen of Erebor, with plenty of time to betray us, as orcs do! Easy enough to open the gates from the inside – we’ve done it a thousand times.”

“That’s all it’ll take for orcs to get in, and once they’re in…”

“Aaaaaaargh!” Kíli smashed his hand against the wall. “Ow!” He cradled his hand against his chest and spat, “And this is also his fault!”

“It’s up to us. We have to get rid of him.”

“How?”

“I have an idea.”

“Your ideas are always terrible.”

“Listen. The first rule of war is, know your enemy, track his movements….”

Kíli listened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Xajar’s foot slipped on the wet stone and he quickly righted himself. It was almost pitch dark, a little later than his usual timing, the moon just a sliver in the sky against velvety stormclouds. He was walking along one of the few routes in the mountain that were open to the sky. It wasn’t a matter of preference - this was also the only route from the city to the part of town where Ori lived.

Water dripped down his face and he wiped it away drearily. Not being able to work was taking a toll on his mind. He would have to move to Dale at the end of the month. But on the other hand the thought of leaving Ori, even temporarily, was unbearable.

A faint scrabbling sound came from up ahead and Xajar slowed down, suddenly alert. Up ahead was a section of wall that hadn’t been entirely been repaired, part of it was still missing. The sign that was usually placed in front of the hole had fallen on its face. The ropes that were tied across the hole were now lying untied in front of it.

He looked around and saw a discarded glove lying on the ground. He picked up the thick, soggy leather and lobbed it towards the hole, so that it fell on the ground with a squelchy thud, like a boot hitting the ground. Two figures leaped out of the hole, brandishing their swords.

Xajar drew his own swords, but they weren’t needed after all. With a scream, one of the figures slipped and fell back through the hole, and the other yelled and grabbed the wall.

Xajar dropped the swords and ran forward.

Clinging to the wall for sheer life was the prince, his companion hanging from his ankle by one hand.

“What the? What in the world are you idiots playing at???” Xajar yelled. “Hang on!”

He grabbed the rope lying on the ground. Luckily one end was still fastened to the stake. He gave it a strong pull to make sure. He tied the rope securely around his waist, and knelt at the side of the cliff.

“Give me your hand!”

The dwarf hanging from the Prince’s ankle by one hand, managed to raise the other arm enough for Xajar to take hold of it. Luckily he was wearing a thick woollen coat that wasn’t slippery.

Xajar braced himself on feet and knees and pulled the heavy dwarf up, using every ounce of his strength. Released from his friend’s vice-like grip, the prince stumbled forward and would have fallen if Xajar hadn’t reached out and grabbed his coat.

Both the boys sank down on the ground, exhausted. 

Once he was sure the boys were safe, Xajar sat back down on the side of the road, gasping. His arms felt like they would fall off, and his knees were skinned and bleeding.

The prince and his companion sat by the side of the road too, arms around each other’s shoulders, visibly shaken.

“It’s late,” Xajar said, “Go home.”

They didn’t reply, and Xajar looked up to see dark eyes studying him. Kíli didn’t look like an assassin – he looked like a wet kitten in a leather coat.

Xajar took a deep breath. “Look, I get that you hate me. I understand. You don’t trust me, and that’s all right. But an ambush?” Xajar paused. “It’s despicable. You are the prince of Erebor. At least try to act like it.”

The other two didn’t reply.

Xajar angrily snapped, “And for Mahal’s sake, leave me alone. You don’t have to chase me out of Erebor. I’m leaving at the end of the month.”

Xajar’s head dropped on his knees. Water sluiced down his neck and made a cold path down his ribs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Xajar spent the next few days at home. There wasn’t anything to do. He couldn’t go to the forge. He could go to the shop, but with an energetic Bilbo there, Dori already had all the help he needed. So Xajar tried to make himself useful at home, doing the dusting and cleaning. He wasn’t confident enough to try cooking, though. 

The doorbell rang. Xajar went to the door, still with his apron on, and a broom in his hand. In front of him stood the Prince.

“Prince Kíli,” he nodded.

“You’re cleaning?”

Xajar shrugged. “Someone has to.”

The prince had dark circles around his eyes, and his hair was uncombed and unbraided. Clearly Xajar’s little speech about acting like a Prince hadn’t made any impression on him.

“Is Ori in?”

Xajar shook his head. “He’s working for Lord Glóin now. You should be able to find him at the Treasury office.”

The Prince scratched his head. “Can I come in?”

Xajar was strongly tempted to refuse, but this wasn’t his house, and if Dori were around, he would have let the prince in. “Sure.”

The prince sat on the settee. Xajar put away his things, washed his hands and came out.

“Tea?”

“Uh – no. I’ll just take a moment.”

Xajar leaned against the fireplace and waited. The prince studied his nails for a bit, then looked at the painting over the fireplace.

Xajar waited, his foot tapping against the floor. He didn’t want to look at Kíli’s face any longer than absolutely necessary. He wanted Kíli to say his piece and leave. 

Finally the prince spoke, “You said you’ll leave at the end of the month.”

“That’s right.”

“Where are you going?”

“Dale, I guess. I’ve heard they need good swordsmiths.”

“You are from Mordor, aren’t you? Thrak didn’t make that up?” 

“No, he’s right. I grew up in Mordor.”

“But you’re not an orc?”

“Apparently not. I’ve seen my blood often enough to know that it’s red.”

“But they still accepted you. Can’t you go back?”

Xajar laughed shortly, “I was exiled. I can’t go back.”

“Exiled? Why?”

“Because I refused to kill a child of Men.”

“Oh.”

Xajar didn’t respond to that. 

The Prince’s boots drummed against the floor. “If you could stay, without marrying Ori, would you?”

Xajar shook his head bitterly. “The guild has barred me from the forge. There’s nothing much I can do if I can’t be a smith.”

The Prince moved his hand over his face. “Yes, I told them to.”

“I know.”

“And you still… why?” Kíli looked bewildered.

Xajar frowned, “I still what?”

“Why did you save my life? I insulted you, attacked you, tried to get you banished from Erebor, tried to kill you. But you  _ still _ saved my life. I don’t understand.” 

Xajar shrugged, “If you don’t understand basic decency, I don’t know how to explain it to you.”

Kíli stared blankly for a bit. “I have to go. I have to think. I’ll see you later.”

Xajar had much rather not, but he nodded politely.


	16. Chapter 16 - And the wheel turns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Monday, Xajar got another scroll, this time a summons to appear before the King in three days at the eleventh hour. Ori fumed, “Can’t they leave us alone? If the King slaps another charge on you I swear to Mahal we will walk out the gates that very minute.” Bilbo said thoughtfully, “But perhaps we aren’t being fair. Perhaps the King is not unjust?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings - a happy chapter at last! 
> 
> Sorry for the long hiatus, everyone. :(
> 
> I was renovating my home and it took a loooong time and was so tiring... almost done now :) My house looks so much nicer! Yay!

Nothing much else happened during the week. But on Monday, Xajar got another scroll, this time a summons to appear before the King in three days at the eleventh hour. Xajar was shocked – from the prince’s manner at their last meeting, Xajar had hoped he had given up the idea of any further revenge.

Ori fumed, “Can’t they leave us alone? If the King slaps another charge on you I swear to Mahal we will walk out the gates that very minute.”

“And I’ll go with you.” Bilbo chimed in.

“But Bilbo – it’s not safe for you outside Erebor. You should stay here, with Dori.”

Bilbo shook his head obstinately, his golden curls bouncing. “I would much rather brave the orcs than live where there’s no justice.”

Dori sat down heavily on the settee. “If you think you’re going anywhere without me, think again. I’ll close my shop and open it in Dale. I know most of my workers will come with me.”

Bilbo said thoughtfully, “But perhaps we aren’t being fair. Perhaps the King is not unjust? Do you know anything about him?”

Dori thought over that for a while, “Well, he doesn’t usually judge cases – leaves most of them to the court judges or Lord Balin unless there’s something special about the case. Erebor in general has a good justice system. But we have never had a case where the royal family was involved.”

Xajar nodded gloomily. Ori sat down next to him and cuddled up to him. He put an arm around Ori and tried not to think of what the days ahead would bring.

~~~~~~~~~~

This time they were escorted, not to the council room, but to the public throne hall, which was filled with people, making Xajar quite nervous. He didn’t like crowds. But at least this crowd seemed cheerful and not hostile.

They were escorted to a table in front of the dais. Xajar had Ori on one side of him, Dori and Bilbo on the other. Suddenly Dori elbowed him, “Take a look at the dock!”

Xajar looked to his left, where, in a little area separated by a railing, stood the prince and his friend. “Why are they there?”

“I don’t know. But if they’re in the dock, they’re the defendants. Not you!”

Xajar glanced at the Prince, and caught him staring back.

Then the bailiff called for everyone to rise, and they all did.

A door at the back opened, a tall, broad-shouldered dwarf came in quickly, unceremoniously ran up the steps to the throne, and sat down.

Xajar gaped at him. The King was dressed as casually as a common soldier, except for a slim silver crown on his brow, but he looked far grander than anyone in the hall. The ministers and nobles in their silks and velvets didn’t even come close to the majesty that Thorin Oakenshield exuded effortlessly in his cottons and leather.

For all his great size, he moved like a panther, lithe and powerful. This was not a politician, this was a warrior, born and bred. Xajar did not think he would be a kind king, but he would perhaps be a fair one.

The King raised his hand for silence, and then spoke, the acoustics in the hall magnifying his deep voice so that it could be heard everywhere in the hall.

“I have called this court to session to deal with an issue that is personally distasteful to me. So I’ll keep this short. A few days ago, Prince Kíli, my nephew, accused an immigrant from the south, Xajar, son of Adon… would you please stand up?”

Xajar quickly got up and turned in both directions so that the hall could see him.

“… of attacking him and a friend, and causing them injury. Two days ago, my nephew came to me and confessed that the charge was untrue.”

As he paused, the hall burst into hushed chatter. Xajar gripped Ori’s hand tightly. Ori whispered, “I think it will be ok.”

The King continued, “I am appalled at my nephew’s attitude towards this immigrant, and I fear this attitude may not be confined only to him.”

Silence greeted this sentence.

“Some of you may remember the days before we retook Erebor, when we were exiles struggling to survive in often hostile lands. Those who do, will remember the times that we faced prejudice and antagonism, based upon how we look. From what I hear, Xajar Adonson has met with the same prejudice, but now at our hands. And this, citizens of Erebor, is not what Erebor stands for.”

The crowd was hushed, waiting.

“We may be the richest kingdom in Middle-Earth now, but we have come to our current prosperity through untold calamities and hardships. And these have taught us to value loyalty, honour, and willing hearts above gold and diamonds. I am chastened that a young immigrant has more of these qualities than my own blood.”

Ori got up and slid an arm around Xajar’s waist. Xajar put his arm around Ori, feeling as if he were in a dream.

“To make amends for his past mistreatment, and to ensure that it is not repeated, I hereby grant Xajar Adonson full citizenship of Erebor.”

The hall burst into excited chatter and then some scattered applause. Xajar looked around, feeling light-headed. Suddenly the future did not look bleak anymore.

“In addition, as a personal act of restitution, my nephew has purchased a full lifetime membership in the smiths’ guild for Xajar Adonson.”

Xajar looked at Ori, startled. He turned to look at Kíli and saw the prince looking back at him with a smile. Xajar bowed his head.

“And now to the accused. Prince Kíli and Master Runin have confessed to their crimes, and have waived the right to a defense. They are hereby sentenced to one month’s labour in the north-western mines.”

The king brought down a metal gavel on the metal table with a sharp clink. At the back of the hall, a gong went off. The session was over. The King stepped down from the throne.

Ori tugged at Xajar’s arm. “Come on!”

“Where?”

“We have to thank Kíli!”

Xajar unwillingly let Ori drag him to where Prince Kíli was being respectfully led away by the guards. Ori ran forward and called out, “Kíli!”

The prince turned and stopped. Ori ran over and hugged him. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry about all the things I said.”

“You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.” The prince replied, “I have a lot to think about. About what I am doing with my life. Someone told me to start acting like a prince, and perhaps this mining stint is exactly what I need.” He turned to Xajar.

Xajar nodded, “Thank you. For the forge.”

The prince smiled, and there were tears in his eyes, “Thank you for saving my life.”

Ori looked up at the two of them, “You saved his life?”

Xajar shrugged. He really didn’t want to talk about it.

With one last handshake, Kíli left.

Ori and Xajar returned to the table, where Dori and Bilbo were standing talking with the King.

The King turned and looked at them. He smiled and came forward, moving with grace and power, looking every inch the legendary Durin who vanquished Smaug.

“I believe I must thank you, Master Xajar.”

Xajar shook his head, “I didn’t…”

But the King stepped forward and suddenly Xajar was being hugged to a massive chest.

The King’s voice rumbled next to his ear, “You saved my foolish nephew’s life. I am forever indebted to you.”

Warmth and gratitude ran through him. Here was a King he could respect and admire. If he had an uncle like the King, he would follow him to the ends of the earth.

“Thank you, your Majesty,” he bowed low. “I am so so sorry for being the cause of your nephew’s punishment.”

The King shook his head, “If there’s anyone to blame, it’s Kíli himself and his friends.” He grinned suddenly, “Don’t worry about the punishment. No miner worth his salt would trust those two with a pick. I’d be very much surprised if they did anything more than carry a few buckets of ore around a day. This may be just the break from mischief they need to turn their lives around, and I’m really grateful to you for being the reason for that, however unwitting! If there’s anything you need in Erebor, you only have to ask.”

Xajar grinned back, relieved. “I think I have everything I need.” He pulled Ori closer to him, and Ori blushed at the King’s knowing grin.

“Indeed. I have to congratulate both of you. May Mahal grant you both long and happy lives here at Erebor.”

The King turned, spoke to Bilbo briefly, and left.

“Shall we go?”

Dori turned immediately to go with them, but Bilbo didn’t move. He was staring at the back of the King as he strode out of the hall.

“Bilbo?”

“Uh, what?”

“Shall we go home?”

“Oh sure.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Ori asked Dori.

“There’s nothing the matter with me.” Bilbo interjected. “It’s just very majestic, that’s all.”

“What is?”

“Everything. The court. Your king. Everything.”

Dori winked at Xajar. “Yes, the royal throne has that effect, sometimes.”

Bilbo harrumphed. “Time to go! Let’s go out and celebrate!”


	17. Chapter 17 – Another visitor from Mordor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang goes out to eat at a new place, and Erebor gets a sinister visitor.

They went to a new, more expensive restaurant that night, Dori being in the mood to splurge.

As they walked in, past a gilt-covered board that said “Ambrosia”, Bilbo said, “Looks much the same as the other restaurants around.”

Xajar looked around. Bilbo was right. The décor was a bit cheesy and not particularly opulent by Ereborean standards.

“It’s not the décor,” said Dori, sitting down at a table in an alcove. “It’s the desserts.”

“What are desserts?”

It was Bilbo who answered, “Sweet things you have at the end of every meal. Like the little tarts Dori makes sometimes?”

“Sweet as in sugar? I like sugar. Lord Balin gave me candy once…” Xajar’s voice trailed off as he remembered the scene, with Ori hanging on to Balin’s every word.

Ori seemed to sense his discomfort, for he immediately took Xajar’s hand in his and squeezed it. “Let’s not remember the past. We have to look to the future.”

“Yes, the future,” Dori grinned, “And the best thing is, we have more time to plan the wedding!”

“No,” Xajar said.

“No?”

Ori cut in, “He means we don’t want to wait.”

Xajar tried to speak but Ori’s thumb pressed painfully into his palm and he shut up.

Ori said, “We don’t want to postpone the wedding, Dori. We don’t want rumours flying around. Xajar has been through enough as it is. We can cut some corners, can’t we?”

Xajar felt bewildered, “Are you sure?”

Ori booped him on the nose and Xajar blinked.

“Of course I’m sure. I’m not taking any more risks where you’re concerned.”

Xajar felt himself blush and squeezed Ori’s hand. He felt hope spring in his heart once again. Surely with so much touchy-feely affection, romantic love could not be far behind?

“So, what shall we order?”

Bilbo ordered a venison steak, baked potatoes and salad, Ori some spicy beef, with braised mushrooms and fried fish, Dori a pigeon pie, with fried bacon. When it came to Xajar, though, he simply couldn’t take his eyes off the desserts.

“Can I just order desserts?”

Ori giggled, “All right, but just for today, mind.”

Xajar ordered a “Defeat of Smaug” and watched in fascination as the waiter carried to his table a large confection of cake, ice-cream and candied sugar in the shape of a red dragon being killed by a tiny black figure with a bow.

The others stared at the huge dessert. “Are you going to finish that?” Bilbo asked.

Xajar stared at it. He almost didn’t want to destroy such a work of art.

He speared a small bit of the base of the cake and put it into his mouth, closing his eyes in ecstasy as the flavours filled his nose and the sweetness pervaded his mouth.

“Yes,” he moaned.

Bilbo reached out and grabbed the tiny Thorin figure. “This one’s mine.” He propped it up at one end of his plate and continued eating.

Dori and Ori looked at each other, and grinned silently.

When the last bit of dragon scale was gone, Xajar leaned back and sighed. “That was amazing. We should do this more often.”

“And ruin all your teeth? No way, mister. No more desserts unless you actually eat the main course.”

“Cut the lad some slack, Ori. Anyone would think you’d been married for two decades.”

But Ori wasn’t listening. He was sitting up in his seat, trying to listen. “Something’s wrong. The soldiers are closing the main gate.”

“Are we under attack?”

“I don’t know.”

Suddenly a figure slid up to their table, and knelt on the floor next to Bilbo.

“Nori?”

It was indeed Nori, looking very worried. “I have to take Bilbo down to the mines. Dori, can you come with us?”

Bilbo looked bewildered, but Dori got up, flung his serviette to the floor, then picked Bilbo up bodily and ran. Xajar and Ori watched bemused as the three of them disappeared into the interior of the restaurant. Xajar swore he could hear Bilbo spluttering as he was carried away. 

Xajar and Ori quickly paid for their meal and went outside. “I know a place where we can see what’s happening. This way,” Ori said urgently, and Xajar followed. They ran through an alleyway until they reached a rusty door that opened to the outside. They opened it, slipped through and closed the door behind them. It was still twilight outside, and they saw a huge bird swooping in huge circles outside. Xajar froze as he recognized the “bird” as the creature that had followed them on the Gondor raid on which he had first met Ori.

“It’s a fellbeast!” he whispered. “It’s always ridden by one of the Nine”

“The Nine? You mean the Nine riders? The servants of Sauron?”

“Yes. Shh…”

They watched as the fellbeast swooped through the air in large lazy circles, apparently waiting for something. Below them were the ramparts of Erebor.

An inner door slammed and the King strode up to the ramparts.

“What is your errand? Why have you come to Erebor?”

The fellbeast hovered in the air in front of the king. “Nothing important, King of Erebor.” The rider hissed, “Just a little hobbit.”

“A hobbit? What’s a hobbit?”

“I think you know, King Thorin. A little hobbit is known to have taken sanctuary with you.”

“A lot of people come to Erebor for sanctuary.” Then there was silence and some muttering and then the king spoke again, “Yes, my Royal Advisor tells me we had a hobbit, but some wizard took him away again. What do you need a hobbit for, anyway? I don’t believe they are good to eat.”

“He has something that belongs to my master. Rest assured we shall find him, Thorin, son of Thrain. And if we find that he was here after all, my master will be most displeased.”

“I quake in my boots.” Came the dry reply.

The fellbeast swooped down with a harsh screech and then rose into the sky.

“What in the world was that about?”

“I don’t know, but Bilbo Baggins has some explaining to do.”

“Shall we go back?”

“Yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dori and Bilbo didn’t come back all night. But when Ori and Xajar came out for breakfast, Bilbo was sitting on the sofa, very comfortable, feet up on a footstool.

“Bilbo Baggins!”

“Oh there you are! Dori thought you would worry.”

“Never mind about Dori. Come with us.”

They dragged Bilbo into their bedroom, away from possible eavesdroppers, and made him sit in the middle of the bed. Ori sat on one side of him, and Xajar on the other.

“Now, spill,” said Ori.

“Spill what?”

“Why are the Nine after you?”

Bilbo sighed. “All right. Gandalf made me promise not to tell anyone, but if I can’t trust you two, who can I trust?”

“So tell.”

“I’ll show you.” And Bilbo dug into his trousers pocket and pulled out a ring on a chain. The chain was attached to the pocket in some way.

Ori reached for it, but Bilbo pulled it back. “Don’t touch it.”

“All right. I won’t. What is it? It looks like a plain gold ring.”

“It makes me invisible if I put it on.”

“So why didn’t you use it to escape the orcs?”

Bilbo took a deep breath and put the ring back in his pocket. “Because when I wear it, the Nine can sense me.”

“Right, but do you know what it is?”

“No, but Gandalf said he’s going to find out.”

Xajar asked, “How did you get it? From a treasure trove?”

“Oh dear me, no. Where would I find a treasure trove? I bought a few preserved fish from a travelling merchant a few years ago. Opened one up, and this thing popped out. I thought it was just a simple ring at first, but then I realized when I wore it, nobody could see me! Very useful in hiding from unwelcome guests, you know. But I made the mistake of wearing it in front of Gandalf once. He noticed something, and followed me home. I had to tell him the whole story. He left to consult the leader of his order. Then last year a pack of orcs attacked Hobbiton, and Gandalf got me out in the nick of time. And now he has disappeared again, and the servants of Sauron are looking for me here.”

“They’ll never find you in the mines.”

“Yes, but I don’t want them attacking Erebor either!”

“Don’t worry about Erebor. As long as Thorin Oakenshield is King, nothing can touch us. You should have seen him face down the Rider on the Fellbeast just now.”

“He did? What happened?”

Ori related the story and Xajar grinned at Bilbo’s starry-eyed awe. The little hobbit had evidently formed a crush on the legendary king. It wouldn’t do him any harm. The King was hardly likely to notice a little hobbit. 


	18. Chapter 18 - A letter from a penitent prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tiny interlude to bring the fic back from hiatus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry - I've been fighting depression - mild, but it still prevented me from writing :( And I have to thank my beta Dragonbilbo for sticking with me through it all... you're the best! <3<3<3

The next morning, Xajar set out for the forge, with his new guild badge proudly pinned to his shoulder. On the way, a few dwarrows smiled and bowed to him, and he returned their greetings with a huge grin. By the time he got to the forge, he was feeling happier than he had for many days. He needed his work, almost as much as he needed Ori. Making daggers had been his only source of comfort in Mordor, other than his mother, and his hands itched if he couldn’t create.

At the gate, the official rose, bowed to him, and called a guard to escort him to his new forge, which came with the lifetime membership.

When Xajar saw the shiny new forge, he gasped. Prince Kíli had evidently spared no expense. The forge was thrice the size of the other, with extra tables for etching and other metal work. This was a forge meant to be worked by a smith and up to 10 apprentices. There were also several lockable cupboards on either side which meant Xajar would no longer have to carry tools and other expensive materials back and forth.

Xajar sighed. He loved this new forge, but it was marked by the taint of the young prince’s arrogance. Even in his path to redemption, he couldn’t refrain from going over the top. Why did he have to present Xajar such an expensive forge? Was he merely trying to atone, or to buy his friendship? Why would the prince want to befriend an ugly monster from Mordor anyway?

But the forge was truly beautiful and Xajar ignored his doubts as he started his work. He lit the forge and started sorting out his materials as it heated. He found himself humming lightly, an ages old lullaby. And why should he not? Prince Kíli’s interference hadn’t hurt him in the least. In fact, it had made Ori even more determined to marry him, so perhaps he should thank the prince for it?

Xajar heaved a deeper sigh, this time of pure pleasure. He was going to marry Ori! He had a lifetime to make Ori want him, and he would make the most of it.

Xajar picked up the scabbard he had started work on before the whole Kíli debacle had happened. It was light, made mostly of leather. Among all the peoples of Middle-Earth, the Uruk had a real talent for curing and working leather, and Xajar had learnt from the best of them. He bent the metal plates into shape to create the chape and locket, then started work on the hard leather.

“Master Xajar?” A slightly familiar voice sounded at his elbow.

Xajar looked up. “Yes?”

It was the guard from the gate. He asked, “Master Faffr bade me ask if you were planning to take on any apprentices. Two dwarrows have been waiting a year for a swordsmith to open up positions, and they heard you know how to make swords?”

Xajar had made only about twenty swords in all his life, but he was confident he could teach the art. “I was planning to, in time.”

“Would you like to meet them, sir?

Xajar shook his head, “Not immediately, I think. I’m still a newcomer to Erebor, so I would like them to meet my fiancé and his brother. But after my marriage. I won’t be able to give them the attention they need at the moment.”

The guard smiled broadly, “Yes, we all heard about that. Congratulations! I have met Master Ori – he is very attractive and charming. And quite a scholar, they say.”

Xajar blushed, “Yes, he is.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“There’s a letter for you.” Ori threw a cloth-bound package at Xajar. It landed neatly in his lap.

“A letter? For me?” Xajar picked up the package and shook it.

“Open it.” Ori giggled at Xajar’s adorably confused look.

Xajar pulled a tiny knife out of his bracelet, cut the threads and opened up the cloth package to reveal a large, rough looking rock as big as his fist, and a letter in a small envelope. He handed the letter over to Ori. “Please read it?”

Ori sat down next to Xajar and said, “Oh. It’s from Kíli!”

“For me? Why is he writing to me?” Xajar frowned. He had forgiven Kíli, he supposed, but he didn’t particularly want him back in his life.

“No idea. Let me see.”

“ _To Xajar Adonul, Greetings. I hope this letter finds you in the best of health. I have been in the mines for 2 weeks now, and hope to have returned to Erebor before your wedding. I have received Ori’s invitation_ …,”

Xajar frowned at Ori, “I didn’t know you had invited him.”

“How could I not? It’s thanks to him that you’re still here.”

Xajar shook his head, “If he didn’t exist I would still be here.”

“But if he wasn’t such an ass, I wouldn’t have had the bright idea of marrying you! Plus, he gifted you one of the best forges in the smithy. You said so yourself.”

Xajar closed his eyes, “He’s your friend, Ori, but not mine.”

“You still haven’t forgiven him, have you?”

Xajar shook his head. “I’m not sure I have. He hurt us, and he meant it, every word, every action. So it’s not easy”. Xajar sat down and sighed. “It’s not just a question of forgiveness. Forgiving an enemy is one thing – inviting them to your wedding is quite another.”

Ori put the letter down. “Do you want me to disinvite him?”

“No. What’s done is done. I don’t want him at our wedding but I don’t want to turn him into an enemy again. Just don’t expect me to befriend him.”

Ori shook his head. “I think you’re wrong about him, Xajar. He’s hot-headed, not vindictive. He’ll understand if you don’t want to be his friend, but he’ll also probably try to change your mind!”

Then he continued reading: “ _I have received Ori’s invitation, and will make it a point to attend. Mining is a chore that gives one time to think, and my thoughts have not been my friends of late. When I return to Erebor, I am determined to become more like the Prince I was born to be, and not the creature that I have become. I hope I can rely on your support in this endeavor_.”

“My support? Seriously?”

“Xajar! He’s just a boy.”

“I know he’s underage, my love. But he really should know better, with all the education he has had.”

“Be kind to him. He grew up practically an orphan, you know.”

“An orphan?”

“After his father Prince Vili died in an orc raid, Princess Dís never completely recovered. The King brought him up, but an uncle’s not the same, especially when there’s a partially sane mother.”

Xajar laughed bitterly, “Better than growing up at the end of a lash.”

One look at Ori’s face and Xajar knew he had said the wrong thing.

Ori’s eyes were round as saucers. “Lash?”

Xajar sighed. He lifted his shirt up and turned so that Ori could see his back.

“I can’t see much, under the dye.”

Then Xajar felt Ori’s fingers on his back, tracing the light scars and in places the raised skin.

“Oh Xajar!” Ori said tearfully and Xajar felt soft lips pressed against his back. He turned and took Ori’s hands in his.

“It’s all right, Ori. It’s all in the past now.”

Ori put his arms around Xajar and hugged him close. Xajar savoured the moment, then pulled back. If the hug went on any longer, he’d be embarrassed.  

“Why did the prince send me a rock?”

Ori picked up the rock. “From the mining? But he’s in the copper mines. He’s a jeweller – perhaps this is an ore?”

Ori lightly tapped the rock against the table. “Oh! I know! It’s a geode!”

“What’s a geode?”

“A rock with crystals inside. I need a hammer!”

Ori ran out, to return in a few minutes with a hammer.

He placed the rock down on the floor on a folded towel, and tapped it sharply with the hammer. Two hard knocks and the rock broke into two halves.

Inside the dull looking rock was a jewel-like formation of blue and gold crystals, gleaming in the light.

Xajar had never seen anything so pretty. “Oh! These are beautiful!”

“It’s a fantastic gift! I’ve always wanted to study a geode!”

“Can I study them with you?”

“Of course! I’ll keep one of the halves to study, and you can use the other to pretty up your daggers.”

“Pretty up! I don’t “pretty” them up. I add runes of power and sigils of strength.”

“Yes, yes. Whatever you youngsters are calling it now.” Ori said absently as he held the crystals up to the light. Spots of coloured light splashed all over the settee.

“Youngster! My dear Ori, whatever I am, I’m not younger than you!”

“You’re a baby” Ori kissed Xajar on the nose.

Xajar found himself blushing. “Oh well, if you put it that way...”

Ori giggled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of you who have been following the story - if you drop it because of the (hugely) irregular updates, I totally understand. I do hope you'll stick with me, though - I promise I'll finish the fic, however long it takes me. But whether you keep reading or not, I love you all! <3<3<3

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment if you like the story or even if you hate it. ALL comments welcome. I'm trying to improve my fiction writing but it's an uphill task - so every bit of help appreciated!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who read the fic and cuddles for all those who left kudos! Love you all! <3


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